


It Had to Be You

by SpicyCheese



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - You've Got Mail Fusion, Call the ER- we’ve got a slow burn here, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Online Romance, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 19:24:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15914697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyCheese/pseuds/SpicyCheese
Summary: Struggling bookstore owner Kara Danvers hates Lena Luthor, the CEO of the corporate LuthorBooks chain store that just moved in down the street. When they meet online, however, they begin an intense and anonymous Internet romance, oblivious of each other's true identity. Eventually Lena learns that the enchanting woman she's involved with online is actually her business rival. She must now struggle to reconcile her real-life conflict with Kara with the cyber love she's come to feel.ORSupercorpYou've Got Mail AU





	1. Chapter 1

*_*_*_*_*

 

 _“_ Go already! You’re going to be late! _”_

His hands full, Kara shoves the remaining half of the croissant in her boyfriend’s mouth, heading off whatever retort or kiss was brewing there. With both hands she ushers him out the apartment, his goodbye muffled by pastry and the door.

With Mike gone, the apartment returns to peacefully quiet once more. She grabs her hot cocoa and slips back into bed, pajamas and all. Sliding her laptop off the bedside table, she tries to quell the little spark of anticipation as she logs on to her email.

There are likely less banal screennames than **ShopGrl09** , but it’s the one she’s had practically since puberty, and she sees no need to change it. So few things from her past that have endured, it’s almost habit to cling to them- to her benefit or detriment.

Her inbox springs up, the custom alert sounds off, (another bit of nostalgia she’s loathe to let go) letting her know she does, in fact “Have Mail”.

Kara’s heart skips a beat because the email is from _them_ , her mystery person: **NatlCity98**.

Grin stretched wide, she clicks the message and begins to read:

_[Mackerel is my cat. He’s a very large, very orange, Maine Coon and he wakes me up each day at exactly 5:35am on the dot, begging me to open the street-facing window in the living room. He’s an indoor cat so, much to his misery, this is as close to freedom as he’ll ever get. He sits there all day, watching the world go by from his screened bubble, right up until I close it before bed._

_Most people would pity him, but usually I’m envious. Most people’s worlds are just as small, but he makes a point of seizing every possible moment to be present and enjoy his to its fullest. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve done that. This time of year, I used to love to sit on a bench in the park and watch the leaves change. Now, by the time I realize it’s autumn, the colors have already come and gone._

_If I knew your name and address, I’d send you a bouquet of fall foliage. I’d make sure to include something from every hue- the brilliant golds, the sunset oranges, the rusty maple reds, and even big crunchy brown- just so you wouldn’t miss a single color. Alas, I don’t know your name do I? Though anonymity has its charm too, I suppose.]_

Kara can picture it, the bouquet of fall foliage, and makes a mental note to pause outside Noonan’s this morning, to stop and notice the trees.

 **NatlCity98** and she have been corresponding almost daily for a few months now, always careful to avoid exchanging personal information- as they’d agreed upon. That doesn’t stop her from wanting the info though, from greedily devouring each detail this person gives, trying to fit each puzzle piece to form a clearer picture.

Kara pictures Mackerel, sitting on their window sill, and wonders what the rest of the living room looks like. Is it cozy or austere? A penthouse or something a little more rent-controlled like Kara’s, here on the South Side?

She sighs, takes a sip of her drink, and hits reply.

 

*_*_*

 

_[Dear Friend,_

_I like to start my notes to you as if we’re already in the middle of a conversation. One we’ve been having for years, like you’re my dearest oldest friend as opposed to someone I met online in a random chat room._

_It feels like I’ve known you for years, but in another way, it doesn’t and I guess that’s part of the ‘charm of anonymity’ as you said- the element of surprise, of excitement. I don’t get a lot of that in my normal life so our correspondence has been an amazing gift. I go online and my breath catches in my throat until I hear those three little words: _You’ve Got Mail _, and the world shrinks to that moment._

_Soon, I’ll have to leave my apartment, start my day. I’ll walk outside and rejoin the rest of the world but for now, there’s nothing else. Not even the sound of the streets, just the beat of my own heart. I have mail. From you. And that’s enough.]_

Lena grins to herself, grins all the way to the coffee shop across from the construction site. It’s not until Cat sits down in front of her and waves a hand literally in her face, does Lena realizes she’s still zoned out.

“Earth to Lena,” her friend grumbles, though, not unkindly. “You’re more checked out than CeeLo at the Grammy’s last year. He wears those glasses for a reason…”

“Sorry, I just- _I hear nothing else, just the beat of my own heart_ \- it read something like that…I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“God, are you still waxing poetic over that internet rando?” Cat huffs, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Not, just some _rando_ , This woman is…” she searches for a word, comes up empty. Shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re right, I need my head here- keeping the store on schedule.”

“The plan is still the 10th , right?”

“Week from tomorrow, yes.” Lena nods, cupping her mug but not sipping. “I’m just nervous the neighborhood is going to despise us.”

“Of course they will,” Cat says, with dismissive wave of her hand. “LuthorBooks is the big bad wolf that’s just waltzed into their granola-crunching neck of the woods, to devour their poor, struggling, small-business hearts. You are the enemy.”

“Believe me, _I’m aware_ ,” Lena hums. “I’ve spent majority of my life painted as an enemy. It’s just that-“ she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.  “I’ve made the store almost fully Green, am donating an obscene percentage of profit to local shelters and school programs, sponsoring several literacy programs in-“

“-I’m aware of your bleeding heart tendencies,” Cat rolls her eyes. “I’ve known you since you were six.” She puts down her drink, and takes out her phone, shooting off a quick text while still talking. “No need to worry though- yuppies and SJW nutjobs alike will come around quick enough. Their baser sensibilities of supply and demand will weigh out over nostalgia and good-intentions, as they always do,” she smirks, tucking away her phone again. “You’re giving them what they want- cheap books and legal stimulants.”

“Cappuccinos and convenience,” Lena says flatly before taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I just… I want this place to be more than a vending machine. I want it to be something they want because it’s good, not because it’s just better.”

“You know most people don’t know the difference right?”

“Maybe not,” Lena says, biting her lip. “But I do.”

 

*_*_*

 

“God, you have it bad.”

Alex’s comment tethers her back to Earth. “Huh?”

“You’ve been in a love-goggle haze all morning.”

Kara can feel the blush rising on her cheeks. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes,” Alex shrugs, handing Kara another stray book for her to sort. “Though I have a sneaking suspicion it may be someone other than Mike…”

It’s useless to lie, her adoptive sister has always been able to see right through her like she has super powered x-ray vision from one of the novels from the store. “How did you know?”

“Well, I am a detective.” Alex puts down the stack of books and leans against the counter, giving Kara her full attention. “Alright spill.”

“Mike’s great. Really. But…” Kara sighs, setting down the pricing gun. “Okay so the day after my birthday I maybe sorta wandered into a chat room online...”

“Kara you-“ she starts, until Kara gives her a look. She holds up her hands as if to say, ‘backing off’.

Kara clears her throat. “Anyway, this person was there, and we started talking and things just…” she sighs. “Alex this person is so kind. And just so different. We don’t talk about anything personal, no names or jobs or anything like that but I feel like they know me, you know? Like they actually _get me_.”

Alex smiles warmly, squeezing her sister’s hand. “Kar, you know I want you to be happy…” she starts. “But this online stuff- they could be anyone and I just don’t want you to-“

“-I know, I know,” Kara nods. “It’s just, it feels so… so _real_ , you know? What if it is?”

“That’s a pretty big If. And as much as I hate to remind you, you have a for sure-real boyfriend and if you insist on keeping him, it’s probably not fair to him if your attention is dived.”

“You’re right, you’re right, I know you’re right,” Kara shakes her head, thumping the counter for emphasis. “Hey- is J’onn coming in today?”

“I think he said he’d stop by later. Tell him I said hi?”

J’onn was a friend of Kara’s mother’s before she died, and took care of the store until Kara was old enough to. While the Danvers adopted her, J’onn has been like a surrogate father for Kara all these years. “Will do.”

Alex puts her jacket back on, the shoulder holster now conspicuously hidden once more. “Alright, better hit the station. See ya for game night on Friday!”

“See ya.”

 

*_*_*

 

“This is shaping up acceptably, Dear. Maybe, with some extra work, it could even become good.” Lillian doesn’t look up from the report to address her, but Lena doesn’t expect her to. “And the local competition?”

“The used book store ‘ _Second Time Around’_ closed last week. All that’s left is that place ‘ _Blue Door’_  that sells travel books and the Sci-Fi/Fantasy bookshop, ‘ _Up, Up, and Away._ ’”

“That one…” Lillian hums. “The woman that owned it passed it down to her daughter, or something. It’s been there for decades and people are going on about how they feel it’s a _neighborhood institution_ and what a travesty it would be if it closed,” Lillian sneer catches on the last words in a way that makes Lena tight with anger. “When will people learn to grow up? Nostalgia is so,” she flicks her hand in deference, “Limiting.”

“Our numbers show they can’t last more than a few months,” and Lena would very much like this debriefing to end now. She can feel the tendrils of guilt snaking their way into her voice and that is not something she can afford to betray to her mother.

“Good,” she says, finally looking up at Lena. “Then I’ll leave you to it.” She stands and makes her way out, throwing a bland “Goodnight,” over her shoulder as she departs.

Lena sighs and closes her eyes and takes a few slow, deep breaths. She visualizes the tension and frustration flowing out of her the way her therapist told her to years ago, back when she had a therapist. Opening them once more, she walks straight to her laptop on the desk, hoping and praying that her friend has written. She needs that sort of pick-me-up right now.

Much to her relief, it’s there, a new message from **ShopGrl09**. Lena feels better just knowing it’s there, doesn’t even have to read it. She will, of course, even though she knows investing so much of her self is silly. It’s the sort of vulnerability Lillian has always chastised, but Lena just can’t help but indulge in no matter how may times she gets burned. She clicks on it.

_[Dear Friend,_

_A few years ago, I read a novel involving doppelgangers- unrelated strangers that look exactly alike. I always thought that was such a funny concept until I was on the subway today and saw one. He looked exactly like my co-worker, but like a leather-wearing, Village People version, with tattoos. He got on at 31 st and off at Market, perhaps to buy new leather chaps, and it just makes me wonder what _my _doppelganger might be like. How do they dress, what are their hobbies? Do they know my friends’ doppelgangers as well? It’s so interesting to see a totally different representation, an alternative reality of ourselves presented. It’s a funny little reminder of the limitless options and possibilities we have for ourselves, if only we were brave enough to take them.]_

Lena looks at the wall of her office where photos her family, past CEOs and owners of LuthorBooks, hang ostentatiously. It goes four or fice generations back, the earliest a painted portrait, but each have the same mouth, slightly downturned at the corners as if they’re gazing upon something slightly distasteful. Lillian’s stares down at her in kind, and Lena wonders if that same sour expression will have settled on her own face by the time it’s her turn to have a photo there.

There’s a blank space next to Lillian’s that Lena pointedly avoids looking at. They removed the portrait that hung there after the trial and its absence is a daily reminder of _his_ , of her brother’s, the pain of which feels fresh even these few years later.

Lena’s done all she can to turn their business around, to give back as much as they’ve taken, to make it a business that benefits others as well as those staring at her from the wall. 

She spares a final glance email before closing it out. It’s nice to think about other ways she could be, other realities where she might not have to live with this legacy pressing in on her from all sides. She is her own doppelganger in the emails she writes. She allows herself the indulgence of being person she wishes she could be- like **ShopGirl** said- if only she were brave enough. In reality though, she’s as trapped as her poor cat at home, starring out at the world helplessly, the highlight of her days consisting emails from some person she’ll never know. Part of her holds a hope that if this kind stranger believes Lena capable of being this better, doppelganger version of herself, that maybe someday Lena will believe it too.

 

*_*_*

_[I try to eat healthy but I have a weakness- hot dogs. While there are hundreds carts all over the city, there’s one in particular I go to whenever I give in to the craving. It’s run by an elderly man with big ears and few teeth. I’ve never heard him say anything but the price, but he always gives me extra toppings without asking. He piles the onions and relish sky high, floods it with ketchup and mustard and I swear he started buying jalapeños just for me. Whenever I tip him, he gives an odd, toothless smile and bows to me. I get the distinct feeling he was some sort of dignitary, a man of high status at one point, and I feel doubly honored he’s graced me with his attention. I often like to imagine how he went from that status to Hot Dog Cart owner (personally, I think it was by choice)._

_The food itself is a messy affair, requiring several handfuls of napkins (and often a full shirt change) and something about that adds to the forbidden decadence. If we ever meet, I’d buy one for you too and we could share in the beautiful disaster together. I imagine Hot Dog man would enjoy you as well. I imagine you’d be someone who would bow back.]_

“What are you smiling about? This is terrible!” Winn’s words ring out as he rattles around the shop. “LuthorBooks is a monster company… and their discounts are... horribly attractive.”

Her co-worker flops down, defeated, into the worn armchair towards the back of the store. “We can’t close. I’ll never be able to find another part time job.”

“You’ll be fine, and so will the store. I’m looking at this as an opportunity, a challenge,” Kara says airily, forcing confidence into her words until she can feel them for real. “They may have size, but we have _service_.” She gives a twirl. “A personal touch that you can’t get anywhere else. There’s room for both and when customers get tired of being treated like chattel with credit cards they’ll flock to our store.”

“Kara, how to you stay so optimistic all the time…”

She feels the pull, but resists the urge for her eyes to dart to the picture hanging on the wall. Instead, she smiles, light as she can. “Practice.”

Winn gets up again, shaking his head, and moves on to other tasks, but Kara feels stuck. She’d written her friend online about doppelgagers, about a life not taken, not lived. She loves the bookshop, she grew up within these walls and could close her eyes and visualize every nook and cranny. She feels safe and at peace when she’s here but sometimes she wonders if that’s a good thing. A castle’s walls keep good things out as well as bad, and when does a fortress of solitude become a prison?

Still the idea of not having this place terrifies her, and the reality of that possibility is one she literally cannot bare to think about. As light as she is about the business, the numbers don’t lie. They’ve been barely scraping by the past few years and the new LuthorBooks coming just down the street could very well be a death blow.

She looks at the photo on the wall, at her mother’s smile. She always knew what to do, what to say, to make things right.

Kara hopes she can be brave when the time comes, should it come, and do the same.

 

*_*_*_*_*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried very hard not to write this, but it would not leave me alone, so here we are. Hope you enjoy the ride :)


	2. Chapter 2

*_*_*_*_*

“And what supposed essential childhood experience will we be manufacturing today?”

Lena knows by now that despite the eleven year-old’s seasoned sarcasm, she’s also genuinely curious.

“The South Side Harvest Faire,” Lena begins, raising and arm to hail the approaching cab. “They shut down the streets in the neighborhood for the weekend and have vendors and the shops have little specials and-“

“-Okay okay, fine. Sounds good. Lead the way,” Gen huffs, putting her ear buds in.

Lena smirks, reaching over to gently remove them and ignoring the eye roll she receives. “Music later. Reality, now.”

The pre-teen sighs, but complies and shuffles in front of Lena to hop in the taxi as it arrives.

The ride to the faire is quiet, but it’s a quiet she’s learned not to worry about. Lena never really had much interaction with kids, even as one herself, so the learning curve (mostly consisting of her own insecurities) has been steep.

Mighty Mentors, a program LuthorCorp started years ago (mostly for PR reasons at the time), pairs foster youth with adult volunteers. With Lex incarcerated, the entirety of the responsibility to fulfill the family’s contracted 50 community service hours fell to Lena. Which is how she met Gen.

After an extended awkward period of sizing up each other’s intentions, they finally relaxed enough to find they actually enjoyed the company. Lena was actually quite moved when Gen texted her to ask when they were meeting next- even after the prescribed 50 hours was complete.

In truth, Lena was very much like Genrika at that age. The girl is a bit of an intellectual prodigy, but has a difficult time getting along with peers. When Lena met her, Gen had already built several computers herself (and had hacked accounts to pay for the parts), created several very interesting prototypes, and had zero friends.

Lena can see the trajectory. She knows what it’s like to grow up apart and have your only reference for certain childhood experiences be the things you’ve watched in movies. Given that, she makes sure to spend as much of their time together unplugged, outside, and experiencing the world as they do in the lab. It’s a push made for both their sakes and despite all the cynical remarks and the eye-rolls, Lena doesn’t miss the way Gen lights up when she finally lets herself relax the world around them too. Lena tries to follow the pre-teen’s example as well.

The South Side Faire turns out to be fun and festive, bordering on overwhelming. They indulge in balloons and cotton candy (even though the sugar makes Lena feel a bit queasy) and Gen wins a goldfish in the one of the carnival games.

“I’m naming her CJ,” Gen announces. “After the woman with the goldfish, in that show you like.”

They continue on through the busy street and everywhere Lena looks there are kids with face paint, squealing and having fun, towing their parents behind them. Lillian never took Lena to anything not requiring formal attire, and Gen has been raising herself more or less since she was four, so carefree joy surrounding them is novel to both. When Gen tugs her sleeve, towing them to each new sight, Lena has to bite back the emotion that comes with it.

“OOOO! I read about this place! It’s supposed to be super fun and tacky!”

It’s only as Gen pulls her through the threshold of the shop that Lena puts together why the name sounds so familiar.

The _Up, Up and Away_ bookshop is packed to the brim. Their shelves and displays are neat, organized, and accessible but every other space is covered, draped, and jammed with STUFF. Knick-knacks, action figures, old sci-fi movie posters, signs, and banners adorn the walls, ceiling and every flat surface in between. Wizards, aliens, orcs, ghosts, and swamp creatures all peer at Lena as she walks deeper inside, yet the vibe is strangely warm.

Or perhaps that’s more the feel she gets from the voice drawing her to the back corner of the shop.

A small group of children sit, encircled around a blonde woman wearing a homemade astronaut helmet, as she reads a story. The woman is animated, including voices for each character and even acting out some of the action. Her passion is infectious and Lena notices even Gen, who’s pretending to be browsing nearby, is completely taken by her.

The woman finishes reading and bows deeply to the group of clapping kids and adults, before removing the helmet and sliding her glasses back on.

“Okay, so I’ll admit,” Gen shrugs, clapping with the rest of the crowd. “That was fun to watch.”

“It certainly was,” Lena says, eyes still fixed on the woman. Easy and genuine warmth radiates from her, like a sunny reading nook in the dead of winter, and Lena feels herself inexplicably drawn to it.

Lena must linger a bit longer on the sight than she realized because when she looks down again, she finds Gen looking at her slightly smug.

“And what exactly is so amusing?” She quirks an eyebrow at the youth who’s grin expands only and cements.

“Go talk to her.”

“What are you talking about?” Lena aims for nonchalant but she can tell from the heat in her cheeks and Gen’s wicked look, she’s been caught.

“Go. Talk. To. Her. Tell her you think she’s cute.”

“Oh I am _not_ doing that,” Lena shakes her head trying to hold back a laugh. “She’s a perfect stranger! And for all I know she’s not interested in that kind of- um, attention.”

“I’m not telling you to get down on one knee,” Gen rolls her eyes, seeming much older than her eleven years. “I’m telling you to go say hi to a pretty girl. Isn’t the point of these stupid outings? To ‘interact with the world’ or whatever.”

She doesn’t have a retort for that one and must take a beat too long to respond because Gen just sighs and walks past her. Right up to the beautiful blonde employee.

Lena’s always held a kernel of uncertainty if she has the skills or background to meet the standards necessary to be a good role model, but she’s pretty sure letting her 11 year old protégé be her wing man is not something Mighty Mentors would have approved of.

She needs to move, needs to stop this train wreck of a situation, so with significant effort she wills her body to quickly but _CASUALLY AS POSSIBLE_ , join Gen at the front counter. As she approaches, she catches her first snippet from the woman, answering whatever question Gen must have asked.

“-well the 4th book is _my_ favorite but you can only appreciate it to its fullest if you read the first three. Oh, hello,” the woman looks up, greeting Lena with 4000 watt smile, as she arrives next to Gen. “Are you Gen’s mom?”

Admittedly, the laughs Lena and Gen let out are startling loud, but Lena can’t seem to manage to regret it when she sees the woman’s eyebrows knit in adorable confusion. “Was it something I said?”

Lena waves a hand, “No, no, I’m not her mother is all. I’m her-“

“-she’s my friend,” Gen says quickly, adding. “We met at this mentor program thing, but that ended and now we just hang out sometimes.”

“Ah, I see,” the woman nods sagely. “Well pleased to meet you Ms. …?”

“- _Lena_ ,” she says quickly, shaking the offered hand. “Just call me Lena. And you are?”

“Kara Danvers. This is my store.”

 _Of course, the owner._ Lena thinks, because her track record with luck has never been good so why start now. _The owner whose business I’m about to ruin. Of course._

“Where’re the books you were talking about? I want to go look at them,” Gen interjects politely- _over the top politely_ \- and yeah Lena’s going to have to critique that to her later. Subtlety is an art, after all.

“Right over there,” the woman, Kara, points. “Make sure to check out the 5th one too.”

“Thanks!” Gen chirps, hitting just shy of believable but still achieving her clear goal of getting them alone.

Maybe the girl doesn’t need the pointers after all.

“She’s fun,” Kara says, grinning and turning her attention back to Lena. “It’s a nice thing you’re doing, donating your time like this to a kid in need.”

“It’s hardly the altruistic gesture she makes it to be,” Lena says, suddenly a bit bashful. “We came into each other’s lives in the nick of time.”

“Oh? What was she saving you from?”

Lena blinks at that. This woman is smart, the comment a cutting right through the bullshit to something a bit too on point for someone she shouldn’t be talking to in the first place.  Continuing this conversation is absolutely a mistake and she’s not sure why she’s letting it happen. She definitely did not need to put a face to her guilt (and a beautiful one at that) and every moment she stays is only compounding the issue. She can’t seem to tear herself away though.

“You have a lovely shop,” Lena deflects instead and thankfully the other woman smiles and moves along with it.

“Thank you, it was my mother’s. That’s her right there.” Kara points to a black and white photograph near the cash register. A tall elegant brunette stands in the middle of the shop’s checkered floor, holding a young girl’s outstretched hands, as if they’re dancing.

“What are you doing?” Lena asks before she can stop herself.

“Spinning,” Kara chuckles. “Like astronauts in space,” she shakes her head, an inside joke somehow. “This place was her dream, to have a store where imagination was the limit. When I was little, I’d write her stories about wizards and monsters and heroes and she’d read them to me at night. That’s how she got the idea about our weekly Storytime at the shop. It was her idea to help bring the fantastic to life. That’s the point of books, right?”

Lena nods dumbly, because as beautiful as the ideas are she can’t relate. She doesn’t have any experience with spinning or a mother that would read something she’s made. It sounds too good to be true and yet the evidence is right there. The woman behind the counter could have easily stepped out of a fairy tale herself. “Enchanting,” she whispers, despite herself.

“What?”

“Your mother,” Lena recovers. “She sounds enchanting.”

“Oh, yes. She was.” The smile is soft, tinged and fragile like a memory exposed to the light too many times. “Anyway, she left this store to me and I’m going to leave it to my daughter someday and yeah.”

“Oh, how old is your daughter?”

“My?- oh. No. I don’t have a daughter. Not married, even. I just meant, you know, _eventually_ ,” she laughs, awkwardly fiddling with the receipt pad on the counter. “That’s why the store’s not going anywhere if I can help it, so the big bad LuthorBooks around the corner can just go to H-e-l-l,” she mouths the last word.

Gen chooses this moment, this pure personification of awkward irony, to return to the counter with a pile of books. “I think this is all of them.”

“Oh! Uh, it sure is,” Kara chuckles. “Though I’m not sure your, uh, Lena is going necessarily going to be buying all-“

“-We’ll take them,” Lena says impulsively, feeling a bit like she did in college. Like the times she’d buy drinks for the entire bar in hopes that one girl she’d been desperately pining after would somehow know it was for her.

“Except this one,” Gen says sliding the seventh installment off the top of the pile. “So we have something to come back for,” and honest to god Gen _winks_. Lena is going to throttle her when they leave.

Kara laughs out loud, still charmed somehow, and rings up their purchase. She throws in a custom tote bag for free and conspiratorial eyebrow wiggle she gives as she informs Lena of this sends Lena tumbling over the edge. (Of what, she’s too overwhelmed to know exactly.)

“Thanks again for shopping here,” Kara says, handing the bag over to Lena. “It’s customers like you guys, who really appreciate what we do, that are going to keep us in business.”

Lena manages to say something human and along the lines of “No problem” as she gathers the tote, the balloons and bag with the fish and makes her way out the door. When she accidentally knocks over the book display on the way out, the only thing saving her from total mortification is the beautiful boisterous laugh Kara gives. It’s a laugh _with_ her, not at her, and somehow that kindness makes everything so much worse.

Outside, on the street, Lena takes a deep breath to settle the butterflies in her stomach, and dismiss the fact they’re more about the positives from the encounter rather than the embarrassment.  

“ _Well_ , that was a complete trainwre-“ Gen starts, but Lena holds up a finger.

“I’m going to need at least 5 minutes to recover before you make fun of me,” Lena sighs, but ruffles Gen’s hair playfully- letting her know it’s okay.

Gen grouses and tries to fix it and they move along. Lena allows herself just one, discrete glance back at the store, the store her company will most likely be putting out of business, and mourn an alternative reality that just isn’t meant to be.

*_*_*

“The store closing- the store maybe having to close- is what’s wrong with this country.”

Mike has been stomping around the apartment since he got home. Kara wonders how, after a full shift of complaining about things on his radio show, he has the energy to continue that sentiment. It only seems to energize him though.

“This is an _injustice,_ a microcosm tragedy underlining the struggles of the 99% that people need to be aware of!” he proclaims to his imaginary audience. Kara’s sigh shifts his attention back to her though, as if he’s just remembering she’s there. “And I hate seeing you so sad, of course.”

“It’s not that, well not _all_ of it. It’s just it makes me feel as though I…”

“You... what?” he asks, attention limited as he absently picks something from his teeth.

Kara shakes her head, “I don’t know. Nevermind.”

His face softens and he gives her a piteous pout. “Aw, honey, come here.” He pulls her into a brief hug. “You can’t let The Man get you down. You’re not a victim, you’re the _hero_. You’re- you’re-“ he scans around them, until he spots it, a notebook. “ ‘ _You’re a lone reed’_ ,” he speaks as he writes. “ _‘A lone reed, waving in the corrupt sands of commerce’_!” He rips the paper off the notebook and presents it to her with a flourish.

“ ‘ _I’m a lone reed’_ ,” she reads flatly, frustration building.

“Man, that’s good. I think I’m going to use that for my next show,” he smirks, pleased with himself.

“ _‘I’m a lone reed’_ ,” Kara shakes her head. She’s had enough for the day, for the week probably, and walks out of the room, leaving her boyfriend alone to write more ‘inspired’ lines with the company he seems to care about the most.

She spends the remainder of the evening laying on the bed, lights out, reflecting. The day had been a mixed bag. The Faire had brought in a lot of customers- both old and new. She smiles in the darkness over some of the highlights. The red-haired child in her worn superhero cape who gave her ‘flying lessons’. The little boy with the lisp who wanted to ready every book involving dragons. The woman, Lena, with her attractive bashful grin and her precocious young ‘friend’ who left with the whole series and a promise to come back for more.

Kara had been so optimistic but at the end, when J’onn came to her with the bookkeeping, sales weren't much different. In fact, they’d made $200 _less_ than they did on the same day last year. It was a trend, a telling and consistent one, one that she couldn’t ignore much longer.

That night, as Mike snores jaggedly next to her, she slides her laptop onto her lap, opens a new message.

_[Dear Friend,_

_Sometimes I wonder about my life. It’s small, neat, and circumscribed. And sometimes I wonder: Do I live this way because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn’t it be the other way around? I’m not looking for an answer, just wanted to send this question out there, into the void. So goodnight, for now, dear void. Goodnight.]_

She hits send before she erases it, and bites back the deep undercurrent of sadness that edges at her heart. She is keeping her mother’s dream alive, and it’s a beautiful dream, but there’s only so long you can live in someone else’s dream.

It’s a thought that guts her, leaves her feeling like she’s disrespecting her mother’s memory, betraying it somehow. She’s never spoken of it, to anyone, but now she’s telling a stranger, entrusting it to someone she’s never even met.

Maybe that’s easier though. Maybe that’s the problem.

 

*_*_*_*_*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I am totally bowled over by the response- so many kudos and lovely comments!!! I'm really glad people are enjoying it :) 
> 
> Also, I'd like to lower any unrealistic frequency-of-posting expectations I may have set by updating so soon. I had most of this chapter already written so that's why it's ready so quickly. I am, usually, a very slow writer, but like I said this wouldn't leave me alone so we'll see! Thanks again for all the kind comments, and hope you continue to enjoy reading it as much as I am writing it :)


	3. Chapter 3

*_*_*_*_*

 

[ _I have a secret… I love flowers. I remember stumbling upon a book, when I was very young, that talked about flowers and their meanings and it was like learning a new secret code. I was swept away by the romance of it, imaging suitors in Victorian era using these ephemeral living works of art to communicate the those things that were often so hard to name._

_There was a solid few months I would only communicate feelings with flowers (I was lucky enough to live close to a fairly well tended garden). These gifts were received with mild toleration (not unexpected when an 10 year old gives you a flower) and forgotten as fast as the fading pedals. It wasn’t a reasonable or sustainable way of communicating of course, but I’ve never been able to fully give up the practice. I deliver a bouquet of Yellow Carnations to my mother every year on her birthday (a childish and petty, message I think she’s caught onto over the years), and a single Pheasant’s Eye to my father’s grave, on his._

_Right now I’m sitting at my desk and imagining what my bouquet to you would consist of. I like wondering about it; wondering about you and these messages we exchange. These tone-less, black and white transmissions over email have been amazing but limiting. Some things are too precious and complex for mere words. I’d much prefer to capture them in a living array of color, in a splash of golden Yellow Acacia, or perhaps a pop of Purple Pansies. Then again, maybe it’s best to leave some things unsaid for now. Part of the appeal of flowers is that even if the meaning isn’t well received, the person still ends up with something beautiful to enjoy. There’s something to be said for that.]_

 

Kara closes the email and takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. There’s an ache in her chest, one that only seems to strengthen with every email received from her mystery person. ‘Ache’ doesn’t feel like the right word though and she catches herself wishing and wondering if there’s a flower that might represent the emotion better. This feeling of longing for a destination you’ve already arrived at, of finding a new home in a place you’re already living in.

She sets her laptop down on the bed reluctantly (already knowing she’ll re-read this latest email several more times today), and makes her way to the kitchen for a snack.

As she passes through the living room, her eyes catch the vase of now dead and dried out hydrangeas. She plucked them off a bush on her way home weeks ago, a supor of the moment gift to Mike (who deposited them in said vase without giving them any water or second thought). Kara hadn’t given them a second thought either but now, after the email, she’s wondering what secret meaning or message could lie encrypted beneath her gesture.

That’s the thing with **NatlCity98**. They make Kara look at her world through totally new eyes. It’s not the sum total of that emotion that twists in her chest, but it feels like a piece of the puzzle.

Kara returns to the bed, Cup O’ Noodles balancing in one hand and shifting her computer onto her lap with the other, she opens a new email and begins her response.  

 

*_*_*

 

LuthorBooks’ South Side location opens perfectly on schedule with absolutely no hiccups. It goes so well, Lillian is pleased for a full 6 hours.

“How’s the reception been?” She asks, waltzing into Lena’s office without preamble.

“Wonderful. The neighborhood loves us.”

“And the Science Fiction and Fantasy section?”

“Fine.” Lena knows what Lillian’s really asking. “I’m sure _Up, Up, and Away_ won’t last much longer.”

“Good,” and the genuine pleasure in her mother’s smile makes Lena’s stomach turn a bit.

“You know,” Lena begins, already knowing it’s a terrible idea. “I went there with Gen the other day. They had this Storytime event where someone read a children’s fantasy novel. It really attracted a crowd actually and I was thinking maybe-“

“-No.”

Lena frowns, “You didn’t let me finish.”

Lillian turns sharply towards her. “I know you were going to gush about how quaint it was or some such nonsense. The money we save by not paying some doe-eyed co-ed to read bedtime stories will be much better spent on something worthwhile. Like janitorial staff.”

Standing, Lillian pulls on her coat once more. “Honestly, when will you learn there’s no room for sentiment in business,” she huffs a dry laugh, disappointment dripping. “I thought I taught you better than that.”

Her mother exits, but the chill from her words stay, numbing Lena right down to her marrow.

 _Sentiment_ , as Lillian called it, is what pushed Lena into the book business in the first place. Books were what bonded her with Lex when she was first adopted. (Books were what kept her together without him too.)

Before he went crazy, before the cocaine, the weapons dealing, the embezzled money, and the murders to cover it all up up- before he was the figurehead of the company even- he was Lena’s brother. He was the one person that was there for her, that made sure she was okay. He was the one person that spent time with her because he wanted to, not because he had to.

He would always read to her in the evenings. Thrillers, Sci-Fi Adventures, Westerns, things where the stakes were high. Those were the moments that helped her through, helped her fall into worlds other than her own, where even in the absence of a happy ending, things still wove together fully. There were no loose ends to be dealt with (and Lena always felt like a loose end).

He’s gone now, serving a number of back to back life sentences Lena never bothered to count. Rather than and focus on how Lex’s story ended, she focuses on continuing the narrative, of pushing LuthorBooks forward to something better. Something Lena can be proud of. Something the brother she once knew might be proud of. Something good for the world and not just her family.

She can’t talk to Lex. She can’t bring herself to do so (and has been advised not to by countless lawyers anyway) but she can return to the stories they shared together. She can sit and re-read them and imagine the brother she grew up with tucking her under his arm as he read her stories of knights and monsters.

For Lena, books have always represented hope and her goal is to make that available to as many people as possible, in as many ways as possible. It is personal, deeply so, which is why it’s hard to think about the business in such cold calculating ways as Lillian does. Harder still, to swallow the idea that her own dream comes at the expense of others’, could put others out of business (others with the same goal as hers).

It’s definitely not something to celebrate.

A notification pops up on her phone though, and her spirit perks up some. She has a new email- from **ShopGrl09**. The shiver of excitement that runs through her is almost familiar now, and suddenly all the negativity from her mother’s visit seems to fade away.

There are a million things Lena needs to do today. There are people to call, spreadsheets to pursue, but all that can wait. She clicks on the email with a smile that is probably comically large, and let’s herself focus on the words until the rest of the world fades away. 

 

_[Dear Friend,_

_My sister is a kind, loving, generous person. There is no one on this planet I love more but she has one habit that I simply cannot stand: She loves to watch Reality TV._

_She says she likes watching “total train wreck people fall to pieces”. She says it’s soothing in a way, losing herself in the mindlessness of it. I tried watching an episode of one with her and just found it sad and grating. It reminded me of Lord of the Flies- people under stress crammed together bringing out the worst in each other. Screaming, lying, manipulating, it was total chaos._

_Maybe she likes the juxtaposition- that the chaos in her own life is less in comparison? If so, I think maybe my version of this is watching musicals._

_I love musicals. In musicals, everything is symphonic. Every note, every word, every movement is part of this larger picture. It gives the impression of magic, that things are meant to be, fated so, and I like that. There are no secrets in musicals- not with the audience at least. Every character’s inner most thoughts and feelings are belted out so you can see, hear, and grasp the totality of what they’re experiencing. Maybe that's why I’ll never understand my sister and her Reality TV. Why disconnect when you can_ **_connect_ ** _? Why watch things fall to pieces when you can watch them weave together to create something solid and real and magical?_

_I guess it should feel odd or ironic that I find myself communicating with you this way. The internet normally provides this total shield, complete disconnection from the other person... except in this case it doesn’t feel that way. Despite these ‘black and white transmissions’ as you called them, I feel the things we communicate more vibrantly and visceral than I do with some people I see in living color everyday._

_I don’t know what any of that means really. If life were more like a musical I could just play this track back, hear myself belt it those truths, see the big picture, and  understand the meaning and feeling fully. Life isn’t like that though, is it? So I guess for now I’ll just have to settle for singing an old favorite. Have you ever seen_ **_South Pacific_ ** _?]_

 

She leans back in her chair a moment and closes her eyes. Lena would like to bottle this emotion, this sense of feeling at peace yet fully awake and aware that comes after she reads an email from her mystery woman. That connection mentioned, Lena feels it too. It’s odd to be connected to someone on such a deep level and yet not even know what those superficial tertiary layers consist of. Outside of idyl musings, Lena doesn’t find herself caring what those other layers might be. It underlines just how superfluous those things like what some looks like or does for work, really are. It’s ideal too, because it’s always been her wish for people to be able to see past her own layers as most get stopped by the very first one- her name.

Lena opens her eyes. The moment needs to end and she needs to get back to her real world with its very real responsibilities, but knowing that there’s someone rooting for her gives the extra push of motivation to carry on. Having these emails to look forward to has made her life so much better, and for the first time in recent memory she doesn’t feel completely alone.

She closes out her email, makes a mental note to add **South Pacific** to her Netflix queue, and pushes on with her day.  

*_*_*

 

“Like I said, you didn’t have to come with me…”

“Of course I had to come with you. I’m your girlfriend and I’m here to support you,” Kara says, careful not to betray exactly how little conviction she has in the words.

She does not, in fact, want to be here. The party is hosted by Maxwell Lord, aimed at the movers and shakers of the city’s entertainment industry. For the year or so she and Mike have been together, Kara has come to associate these parties with a level of disingenuousness conversation that leaves her feeling odd, empty, and a little sick. Like when you eat too much candy and your body is left overwrought and frayed. Sometimes conversations with Mike leave her feeling that way too, like his words are artificially sweetened, or just empty calories. More and more often she’s not sure if he’s talking to her or working on a new rant or routine for his show. It’s been getting steadily worse, or maybe it’s always been this way it’s just more pronounced now? A small part of her that she quickly shoves down wonders if maybe the contrast is more desperate because of her anonymous internet stranger. That perhaps all the weight and meaning from those exchanges- even in a medium that’s usually so absent of it- has underlined what’s missing from her real life relationship.

“Well thank you, but I’m probably going to be busy most of the night. You know…” his head turns slightly, tracking a young red headed woman in her late 20’s Kara thinks she recognizes from TMZ. “Networking.”

“I’ll try not to get in the way,” she says dryly, making her way towards the food and drink and hoping it’ll be enough to sustain her through the evening.

Across the room, near the buffet table, Lena pouts next to a very unsympathetic Cat Grant.

“Stop frowning. You’re making my champagne go flat.”

“Sorry,” Lena says clearing her throat and trying to school her expression into something more pleasant.

“Look, I managed to find you a party small enough that it’s beneath Lillian to attend, but interesting enough to bring out some worthy personalities- no easy feat, by the way. So maybe you could take advantage of the situation, step out from your mother’s shadow- which you so consistently complain about- and try to socialize?”

“You’re right,” Lena sighs.

“I know,” Cat says confidently. “Why don’t you start by getting us drinks.”

“You already have-“ Cat downs the flute of champagne in one go, handing Lena the empty glass. “Alright then.”

“Go. Mingle. I’m going to go talk to the anchor from Channel 7. His shirt says Macy’s but what’s underneath is pure GQ.”

Lena tries not to choke on her own tongue at the imagery of the woman she’s come to think of as a surrogate mother defiling the local news anchor, and takes that as her cue to head off to the bar. She’s just finished ordering when she sees her.

Kara.

From the bookshop.

In the time it takes Lena to decide whether or not to look away and feign ignorance, Kara meets her eye. And waves a goofy two handed wave. Of course. Lena holds up a tentative hand and suddenly the woman is making a b-line across the party, right for her.

“Lena! Hi!” she says upon arrival. “Remember me? Kara, from the bookshop. What a small world!”

“Yes. Small,” Lena manages, distrustful of her own words. “Please excuse me,” she holds up both glasses as some sort of explanation, and tries to walk away but stops short to avoid smashing into someone.

“Whoa, slow down Luthor,” says the balding man Lena recognizes as some underling of Cat’s. “Leave some bubbly for the rest of us, huh?”

The man moves on but from the look on Kara’s face, the damage is already done.

“Lena _Luthor_. Like LuthorBooks,” Kara says, crossing her arms. “Left that part out conveniently huh?”

Lena stiffens, her not-so-secret identity revealed.  “It wasn’t pertinent at the time.”

“Wasn’t p-wasn’t- you’re the one putting me out of business,” Kara sputters. “Is that… is that why you came to my store? Were you _spying on me_?”

“Spying? Why would I spy on you?” Lena is genuinely confused at this point, but the mixture of fear and frustration on Kara’s face is making her stomach churn a bit. Seeking something to settle both physical and emotional, she shifts slowly back towards the bar.

“Because I’m your competition!” the blonde answers, falling in step beside her like a dog to heal.

“I suppose that’s true…” Lena says distractedly, placing one of the champagne flutes down to focus on her snack of choice.

“What are you doing.”

“What?” she says, pinching a fifth maraschino cherry out of the bar’s bin, adding them to her cup. “They’re delicious.”

“They’re a _garnish_ ,” Kara says with the level of judgement Lena usually associates with church goers evaluating ‘sinners’. “There’s not going to be enough for everyone now.”

The spiteful younger-sibling part of Lena propels her forward as she makes a comically over the top show, grabbing an entire fistful of the cherries and depositing them into her drink. “The reason I came in your store,” Lena begins, ignoring the objections brewing on Kara’s lips. “Was because I had Gen with me. She loves Sci-Fi books and your store happened to be the only one to find one. At the time, that is.”

Lena grabs a toothpick and stabs a cherry from her drink, before continuing. “It was a _charming_ store though, truly. You probably do what, about $175,000 a year in sales?”

“ _How do you know that?_ ”

Kara looks truly terrified now, as if Lena performed some sort of black magic to attain this information. She rolls her eyes, “Because, I’m in the book business.”

“ _I’M_ in the book business,” Kara puffs up, defenses rising.

“Ah, I see. And we’re just the Price Club, right?” She’s aware it’s rising, that spark of cold defensiveness, baiting her, but she should have known better than think that this beautiful, kind woman wouldn’t see her like everyone else. Wouldn’t see just another _Luthor_ . “Only instead of an 80 pack of paper towels, that won’t even fit under your bathroom sink, **_we_ ** sell cheap books.”

“Exactly!”  Kara yips, finding her voice finally. “It’s a just a warehouse full of people that couldn’t care less what they’re selling. Luthor books is nothing but a- a-“

“A _what_ ?” A soulless business out to destroy the dreams of the little people?” And oh, she’s rolling now. The bruise is old, one she’s mostly moved past the point of reacting whenever someone digs in and presses it. There’s something about Kara makes her _want_ to, that makes it harder not to react. “Which is why I managed to get the secret print out of sales figures of a bookstore so inconsequential and yet full of its own virtue that I was instantly compelled to rush over and check it out, for fear it would drive me out of business. Can you even hear yourself? How ridiculous you sound?”

It’s delivered coldly and flatly, just the way her mother taught her (which makes her stomach turn at the realization). It does what’s intended of course. Kara stares at her, speechless.

“ _What_?” Lena bites.

Kara’s mouth opens, then closes, struck painfully quiet. This is not how Lena hoped this evening would go, and the pang of regret is sharper than usual for some reason. Outside of the fact she has proven herself to be who this woman thought she was, it’s Kara’s reddened face, the look of anger and hurt that sharpens the feeling. Lena hopes Kara doesn’t run away because at this point her instinct to might be to follow, to try and take it back.

She is on the precipice of apologizing (a practice that Lillian and years of business has most regrettably beaten out of her) when a man in a garish printed shirt slides up next to Kara and puts an arm around her.

“Hey-hey, what’s goin’ on over here?” he says, before turning his attention to Lena. “Don’t think we’ve met, I’m Mike, Kara’s boyfriend. And you are?”

“Lena Luthor,” she enunciates carefully, battle ready for whatever this new comer has to throw.

“Luthor? Oh, _Luthor_. Enemy of the mid-list novel, destroyer of small business. Gotcha. Now tell me Ms. Luthor, how is it you manage to sleep at night?”

She has to fight not to roll her eyes. His bullying has the juvenile lilt of someone who never evolved past their Frat days, sing-songy and unoriginal. Just as she’s debating skipping ahead to the part where she just punches him, a light hand lands on her shoulder.

“-Xanax and two shots of patron,” Cat answers the question hanging in the air as she slides into the fold next to Lena. “It does wonders really.”

“Oh my god. Cat Grant.” The man-boy says dumbly.  “I’m Mike, Mike Elon. I’m sure you’ve heard my morning show, ‘ _Mike and Ike’s_ ’? You are a legend- it’s seriously such a pleasure to meet you.”

Cat glances at his outstretched hand. She makes no move to shake it though, her only response is to pull her mouth into the tight expression Lena recognizes as a politely masked disgust. “Charmed.”

“Your piece on the modern male chauvinist was absolutely brilliant!” He gushes, abandoning the arm around Kara, and shifting all this focus to Cat. “Have you ever thought of doing a radio interview about it? I’d love to have you on the show.”

“Kind of you, but I have a feeling your viewers may be fully saturated on the topic already,” Cat hums, hand encircling around Lena’s arm. “We really must be going now, have to get this one home. Nice to meet you Matt.” She steers Lena away before anyone can get another word in.

They navigate their way out of the party and Lena is about to explain but Cat digs into her as they’re out of earshot. “When I encouraged you to mingle, it seems I should have specified that doesn’t include starting a fist fight with a shock jock over a pretty girl.”

“Sorry. That woman was Kara Danvers- the sci-fi shop owner, and she... I…” Lena wants to explain, but from that familiar and shameful feeling stinging behind her eyelids, she won’t get far.

“Oh lord,” Cat sighs, her flattened tone a halfhearted mask over the genuine concern. “Do I need to call you a cab?”

“No. I’m fine. I’ll show myself out. You go back to the party,” Lena shakes her head. “Thank you for inviting me Cat. Your intentions were good but I just don’t think I’m up for this.”

She feels more than sees Cat soften a bit further. “Go home. Get your shit together. I’ll see you tomorrow,” her friend mutters affectionately, before rejoining the party. It’s as close to a hug as Lena’s likely to get right now, she’ll take it.

The ride home is a blur she doesn’t remember, operating on autopilot all the way through until she crashes on bed. She lays there for an indeterminate amount of time, staring at the ceiling, before rolling over. Flipping open her laptop, she starts to type.

 

 _[Do you ever feel you’ve become the worst version of yourself?]_ She types. _[That a Pandora’s box of all the secret hateful parts- your arrogance, your spite, your condescension- has sprung open. Someone provokes you, and instead of just smiling and moving on, you zing them. Hello, it’s Ms. Nasty. I’m sure you have no idea what I’m talking about, of course, but I just get so disgusted with myself sometimes.]_

 

Lena hits send and opens another browser window, navigating to her go-to pick me up. She’s well into the night and midway through her eighth  ‘unlikely animal friends’ compilation, when she hears the notification that she has a new email. It’s from **ShopGrl09** and immediately last remaining dregs of negativity seem to dissipate.    

 

_[ Dear Friend,_

_I know exactly what you’re talking about… and I’m envious. I have the opposite problem- I get tongue-tied! I freeze up completely, my mind goes blank, and I spend the rest of the night tossing and turning over what I should have said!_ _What I should have said, for example, to the cold-hearted narcissist I encountered earlier tonight is..._

_Nope, nothing. I have nothing. Even now, hours later, I'm still drawing a blank!]_

 

 

Lena hits reply.

 _[Wouldn’t it be nice,]_ she types _. [If I could pass all my zingers to you. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about behaving badly and you could behave badly all you want. Though I must warn you, when you do succeed in saying exactly what you mean to say, exactly when you mean to say it, remorse inevitably follows.]_

She pauses, chews on her lip. There’s a swell of affection in her chest for this woman, this unknown woman whose overwhelming goodness prevents her from mustering enough negativity for a simple comeback. This woman who’s quirky, genuine loveliness has thawed parts of Lena she never thought herself comfortable and safe enough to share. If she spends one more moment apart, when they could be together, she is truly a fool.

She takes a deep breath and adds:

 

_[Do you think we should meet?]_

 

*_*_*

 

“ _Meet!_?”

In a room across town Kara gapes at her computer screen. The sound of Mike snoring in the background underlines the insanity of just how out of control Kara has let the situation get.

 **Natlcity98** wants to meet.

She snaps the laptop closed in shock, blinking at the darkened room. She shakes her head, as if shaking off the temptation, opens the laptop again and dashes out a drafted response.

_[Dear friend,_

_I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to meet.]_

Kara pauses, examining work. It’s a strong start, firm, decisive. Very much the opposite of how she feels right now.

_[There’s a lot going on in the day-to-dayness of my life...]_

She stops there. The excuse feels wrong, disingenuous. In the bed beside her, Mike grumbles something dissenting to his dreams, before settling soundly once more. Kara can’t help but compare and contrast. Between the wrongness of the talking to this stranger, and the rightness of how it feels. Between the man in her life and this mystery person she’s deciding to keep out of it _._ This person, whom she’s daydreamed about for months and months now. This person that has more or less made that day-to-dayness of her life bearable.

She erases what she’s written, starts over.

 _[There’s something magical and thrilling about this island in cyberspace I have with you._ _Something special and all its own,_ ** _because_** _of the anonymous nature and-]_

She takes a deep breath.

[ _I don’t want to risk losing that_.]

Even if it means losing out on something that could be so much more? Kara shakes her head in the darkness because _no_. She can’t risk losing what she does have. She can’t risk losing any more than she already has. Not for an unknown. Not now at least.

_[So please, let’s not talk of meeting again. I love what we have...]_

Kara bites her lip.

_[and I think it’s enough.]_

She hits send, and spends the next few hours blinking into the darkness and trying not to wonder if her mystery person is doing the same.

 

*_*_*_*_*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It turns out flowers have like a million different meanings. I dragged my veiled ones from the following site: http://www.angelfire.com/journal2/flowers/pcd6.html


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's back (this fic)! Those of you who know and love this movie as much as I do will recognize some familiar scenes :) Those of you who haven't seen the movie... are in for some feels. Also, go watch the movie because it's awesome. Enjoy!

 

  
*-*-*-*-*

 

“Alright, who spat in your Wheaties?”

Lena looks up from where she’s untying the stern line from the dock. “Excuse me?”

Gen attempts to cross her arms over her life preserver vest but can’t reach. She settles her tiny hands on her hips derisively instead. “I mean you’ve been sad and mopey since the moment you picked me up. Not that you aren’t usually a little mopey, but this is way over the top, even for you. So what’s up?”

“Sorry for letting it affect our day, you’re right, I should make more of an effort to be present.” Lena says, careful to lighten her tone, to push a smile- the one the girl deserves- back onto her face. “And it’s nothing that you’d need to be concerned about either way.”

“Ooooooh, so it’s your love life then,” Gen says, smirk in her voice apparent even before Lena’s eyes snap up to see it.

“As I said,” Lena tries, finally casting off the rope. “Nothing you have to worry about.”

“Um, of course I have to worry about it,” and the girl’s eye roll is perfect enough that Lena really will have to be more careful what she models . “You’re my friend. Friends are supposed to talk to each other about their problems. Love life included. So what happened?”

Lena stays silent. She really doesn’t want to be having this conversation with an eleven year old.

“You got dumped, didn’t you?”

“You know not everything is so cut and dry?” Lena sighs. “There’s complexity, nuance…”

“You met a pretty girl, dated, and she dumped you.”

“She didn’t dump me, we haven’t even met in person yet.”

Gen’s excited gasp at is so loud Lena nearly jumps. “ _In person_ \- you mean you met this woman _online_ ! Oh my _god_ you have to tell me everything. What’s her screen name? Did you meet on an app?!” Gen winces. “Oh god, it wasn’t Tinder was it?”

Lena pinches to bridge of her nose. “It was not Tinder. We met in a chat forum about science and have been emailing back and forth. That’s all.”

“ _Love letters_ ,” Gen whispers, in awed exuberance.

“Hardly,” Lena waves it off. “Nothing personal even- we agreed to that early on- but it’s still been…” she flushes at the thought, suddenly embarrassed. She looks at Gen, the girl hanging on every word, and tries to cool herself a bit. “It’s just been really nice.”

“But something happened?”

Lena clears her throat. “I, foolishly, suggested we meet. And she declined.”

“Oh god, are you being catfished?”

“What? No,” Lena shakes her head. “Look it’s really not a big deal. She said she liked what we have and wanted to keep it that way. And I’m- I’m fine with that. Really.”

Lena’s glad she has the helm to keep her sturdy because when Gen barrels into her, hugging tight around her middle, her knees nearly give out from shock.

A hug like this has never happened between them before- not spontaneously and certainly not _this_ full of feeling. The top of the girl’s head barely comes up to Lena’s shoulders and Lena finds when she wraps her arms around she can tuck Gen right under her chin.

The position is foreign, Lena’s not sure she’s ever hugged someone so much smaller than her (that she’s ever been the wrapper instead of the wrapped even). There’s a feeling of protection that comes over her, the need to defend this girl against the whole world if need be, and suddenly she’s happy they’re pressed so tight- if only so Gen can’t see her eyes tearing up.

Thankfully Gen takes the reins after that, finishing the hug with a tidy squeeze before stepping back. “Sorry, you looked like you could, uh, use one.” Gen shrugs, clearly trying not to look affected by the intimacy either. “Should I have asked?”

“No- no of course not. You never have to ask.”

“Okay. Cool. Good,” Gen nods. She leans back against the railing, and crosses her arms, as if trying to regain some of her usual pre-teen blase. “You dodged a bullet anyway, with that internet woman.”

“How so?”

“Clearly Catfishing you,” Gen drawls, but the sarcasm won’t hold. She looks down at her shoes adding, “And I mean, anyone who doesn’t want to meet you, pfft. Something seriously wrong with them.”

And _God_ , Lena was not prepared for this level of affection today. Her mind sutters a bit before finally managing to choke at polite, “Thank you.” The next words fly out of her mouth, completely on their own. “Hey, would you want to join my mother and I for Thanksgiving?”

Gen freezes, eyes wide. “That’s serious.” The girl bites her lip over that, realizing what she’s given away. “A holiday.”

Lena wishes she could take it back, but it’s already out there. Not that she hasn’t thought about this, about their trajectory, but she wasn’t fully prepared to talk about it yet. About the _what’s next_ for them, about what could be.

“You mean a lot to me,” Lena settles for, clearing her throat awkwardly. “Of course I’d want to have you there.”

“Me too,” Gen looks up, shyly. She looks as young as she is there, and Lena feels that pang in her chest because at the end of the day this girl, despite all her intellect and precociousness, is still very much a child. “I mean, yeah I want to be with you too. For Thanksgiving.”

“That’s settled then” Lena smiles, trying to radiate out what she feels, hoping to god it’s working because she is all out of words at this point. “So what do you say we really open this thing up?”

Gen looks a bit relieved at the change of topic. “Can we go over to the other port and look at the sea lions?”

“Sure.”

“Awesome!” Gen whoops, and just as quick that bravado and pep is back.

Lena laughs, “Why don’t you go check out the galley. Maybe there’s a can of sardines or something we could throw them.”

”Aye-aye captain!” Gen gives a sloppy salute and skips away. Lena can hear her whistling _Sloop John B_ down below as she searches for a snack for their aquatic friends.

Returning her attention to the ocean ahead, she opens up the motor and puts the speed on. The wind whips at her cheeks, and her eyes tear on their own accord now. She definitely  has some thinking to do, about her and Gen and the uncertain future, but not today. For now, her only thought is how it’s a beautiful day for sailing. And spending it with Gen, feeding the sea lions of National City Harbor, makes it easily one of the best she’s had in a long time.

And when she gets home that night, after dropping off Gen and handling a few stray things at the office, she decides to be bold and check her personal email. She’d been avoiding it, worried she might have scared her mystery friend away, worried that there might not be an email waiting for her.

Worried if there was too. What it might be like. Did she create distance or make it weird?

When she opens her inbox though, she finds it waiting for her, and can’t help the rush of relief as she  finds them picking up just where and how they left off. Lena grins to herself as she reads.

  
  


_[Dear Friend,_

_I go to my neighborhood cafe for coffee, everyday on the way to work. I love it there- they all no me now- and it’s always been a really easy, gentle beginning to my day. They’ve closed for renovations for two weeks though, which means seeking caffeine elsewhere, so I had to go to Starbucks and WOW was it crazy._

_There were dozens and dozens of options and everyone was in a hurry and anxious, and anxious about being in a hurry. It’s overwhelming but there’s no way I’m alone in that right? Yet here we all are._

_Sometimes I feel like the purpose of coffee shops is for people with no decision-making ability to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark,caf, decaf, low-fat, nonfat, et cetera. For only $3.95 people get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self. Tall! Decaf! Cappuccino! Maybe that’s what makes people wade through all this, maybe it makes it slightly worth it. I’ll let you know when the caffeine wears off : )_

_ShopGrl ]_  
  


_*_*_*_

  
  


_[The whole point of getting clothes that need to be dry cleaned is so that people will see your bags of dry cleaned clothes and know what you’re someone who has dry-clean only clothes. The bags are obnoxious, and the process is expensive and makes your clothes smell weird- because they don’t smell like people anymore. It’s too clean, the absence of smell, it’s deleting._

_I’ll never really understand the way people continually try and remove the humanity from humanity. Sterilize our hands, our smells, our personalities until we’re all just the same beige amorphous blob as the next person._

_It’s hard to fight against that though. I find myself complacent at times, and when I do, I make sure the Ketchup I inevitably spill on myself, clashes extra hard with my outfit. A nice accent pop can do wonders to keep you grounded. :_

_Yours,_

_N ]_

  


*-*-*

 

“It’s true though,” Kara says, adding a bag of yams to her cart.. Thanksgiving is two days away and the store is mobbed. Alex will be hosting this year and had a few last minute additions for Kara to pick up. “It’s all about being seen. Why else would people do it.”

 _“I have no idea why you’re talking about dry cleaning, you barely even wash your clothes,”_ Alex sighs over the phone.

Kara slides her cart around the aisle and whatever retort she was building dies on her tongue. “Oh my GOD Alex, _she’s here_.” Kara nearly overturns her carriage as she scrambles to yank it back behind the shelves of deli meats once more.

_“She who?”_

“Lena. Luthor.” Kara grits out between her teeth, peeking around the corner as she does.

Ever since Max Lord’s event, Lena Luthor has haunting her. She’s seemingly everywhere Kara goes: walking out of the flower shop on the corner, six people ahead of her in line at the coffee shop, and as of this moment- two aisles over at the supermarket.

_“Okay, and?”_

Kara makes a move towards the next aisle but turns the corner too fast with her cart, clipping the side of the endcap display. Several boxes of Stove Top stuffing topple to the floor and make enough a clatter that it draws some eyes- including Luthor’s. Kara dives back behind the aisle before the woman fully turns though, narrowly avoiding detection. “Shoot- she almost saw me!”

 _“Why are you whisper yelling? Are you_ hiding _from her?_ ”

“Not hiding, just… Look, I’d rather not have a repeat of our interaction last interaction, okay? Thank you,” Kara hushes into the phone, as she hurries down and around the next aisle to regain a vantage point. “And besides this is a golden opportunity for me to observe the enemy in her natural state. I’m doing surveillance, I thought you’d approve.”

_“You’re not in Covert Ops, Kar. You sell books.”_

“Tomayto, tomahto _,_ ” Kara whispers distractedly, peeking around the corner. From her hiding spot behind the hams, she sees Lena come to a stop in front of a frozen food display case.

_“So what important intel are you learning about your criminal mastermind? Which type of shampoo she prefers?”_

Lena reaches down, retrieving what looks like two different brands of frozen peas. “Psssh, she probably uses some ultra elite brand for the 1%, something derived from the teeth of all the baby seals she’s clubbed,” Kara says distractedly, watching the way the CEO frowns at the items.

 _“Staying Organic. Makes sense.”_ It’s clear her sister is only half listening and fully disapproving at this point, but Kara just can’t seem to stop.

Across the way, Lena studies her items for purchase. She holds both packages in her hands, examining the ingredients of one than the other, all the while looking strangely confused. “I’m surprised she’s even shopping here. That she’d risk her Armani suit, rubbing elbows with us plebeians,” Kara harrumphs.

 _“You know she’s not an_ alien _, right?. Even rich people have to get groceries once in a while.”_

Apparently, something about frozen peas is too vexing, because Lena places both items back in their spots. Kara watches as she shakes her head dismissively, almost as if disappointed at herself, before picking her basket back up and heading towards produce.

“Alex, she has a net worth with so many zeros I can’t even pronounce the number. She probably has servants that go to the marketplace for her servants…” Kara stands fully now, the coast clear, and moves to the case Lena just vacated. Looking down, yeah, it’s just peas. No great mystery there. “So weird…”

 _“Yeah._ You are _. And I have real Ops to focus on. Keep me posted if she does anything truly evil- like buy the wrong kind of mustard.”_

Alex hangs up and yeah, okay maybe Kara _is_ acting a little crazy. It’s just that she’d expect THE Lena Luthor to have some sort of grand banquet hall celebration for Thanksgiving with waiters and personal chefs and four different types of forks- or whatever rich people did. Yet here she is at the same supermarket as Kara with a basket that looks... well, rather empty actually.

She keeps her eyes on Lena for another few minutes, trailing far enough back to avoid detection. When Lena finally makes it to checkout, Kara makes sure she’s at least four tills away. She’s so fixated on the other woman that it takes two tries for the cashier to get her attention.

“Sorry- what did you say?”

“Cash Only,” the cashier sighs, dyed black hair and ‘over it’ expression representing every sullen teenage stereotype Kara’s ever encountered.

“Crud! Uh, sorry, I didn’t notice…” She berates herself further, for being so distracted. “Can you take a card just this once?”

“ _Cash. Only_ ,” the teen repeats, effort in controlling the clear and present frustration is almost palpable.

“I know, I know, it’s just I-” she leans in closer to the cashier, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I don’t have any cash. So if you could just-”

“You don’t have any cash!?” The man behind her grouses loudly. “She doesn't have any cash!” he announces to the rest of the line, earning a chorus of complaints.

 

_“Get out of this line then!”_

_“Can’t you read?”_

_“What’s your problem?”_

 

Kara’s face is hot and long passed turning red (she’s probably _burgundy_ with embarrassment at this point) which is why when a familiar figure appears at her side, it’s all the worse.

“ _Is_ there a problem here?”  Lena Goddamn Luthor asks her politely, and _god_ Kara wishes the ground would open up and swallow her whole at this point.

“I- I- uh…”

“She doesn’t have any cash!” balding parrot man squawks from behind her, once again.

Kara doesn’t see the look Lena shoots him but it must have been a doozy because when he sees it, he shuts up quick. Lena turns her attention back to the cashier, flashing as soft smile that borders on flirty. “Hey there,” she says, gaining nothing but the same death glare back.

“ _Natalie_ ,” Lena adds after consulting with the cashier’s name tag. The CEO is just _oozing_ with charm that makes Kara want to roll her eyes(and also, kinda envious- _Of the skil_ l, of course. Not of the person on the receiving end.. “That’s a fantastic name.”

Natalie, Bringer of Death, is unaffected by the charm blasted her way though it seems and at this point Kara is debating just running out of the store without groceries all together. They can just skip Thanksgiving. Alex will have to deal.

That’s when she sees it. Kara watches as Lena’s smile slackens a bit, her expression, demeanor, body language, everything, just sort of morphs into something different right there in front of Kara’s eyes. It’s like something out of one of her books, a shapeshifter. It only takes a second, but suddenly it’s a different Lena. And a totally different approach.

“Look,” Lena starts in the way Kara can only describe is casual, genuine, realness. Like when seriously cool teachers in movies sit on the desk and say something like _‘I’m going to level with you’_ or something like that. “None of us want to be here,” she continues. “Not you, not her,” she gives Kara’s shoulder a poke. “Not any of us. All we want to do is coast through our day as easily as possible, right?”

The cashier continues to glare… but then slowly, barely noticeably, nods.

“Exactly. And yes, my friend did _the thing-_ the obnoxious stupid thing you probably see four or five times a day, right?”

This time, she gets a little amused huff from the girl, the tiniest split in affect.

“But you know what’s more obnoxious?” Lena continues. “The line getting held up when she has to collect all her items. And you needing to call a manager for the key to void the sale. And having to deal with all the people in line behind the hold up and their pissy attitudes.”

Past Lena’s shoulder, Disgruntled Parrot Man opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it, thankfully.

“Buuuut, if you just run _this_ ,” ” Lena continues, as she slowly and gracefully takes the credit card from Kara’s hand, and holds it out to the cashier. “Through this little machine right here, we can avoid all of that headache. So what do you say?”

The cashier frowns, eyes doing a quick triangulation between the card, the line, and back to Lena. Weighing her options.

“Natalieeee” Lena’s lips smirk, drawing out the last syllable and sliding back to that teasing, flirtatious way. “Please?”

And Natalie, Stone Cold Natalie _blushes_. Then, Kara’s jaw nearly hits the door when the girl sighs heavily, rolls her eyes, and miraculously takes the card and swipes it.

It worked. It actually worked.

“Thank you Nadine,” Lena says with an easy wink, like she didn’t just perform a Thanksgiving miracle.

“YES! Thank you!!! I cannot even _begin_ to express how much this means!” Kara rambles. The cashier’s expression hardens instantly, anger doubled down as if she just remembered Kara was there and the cause of all of this.

Lena places a hand on Kara’s arm, squeezing slightly- almost the way Alex used to signal when Kara had to take it own a few notches- and turns Kara slightly, guiding her towards the bagging area. “Let’s just let her do her work…” Lena says quietly.

Kara’s not sure what to say. She doesn’t like being handled but there’s no denying that Lena helped her. That she saved her.. “Lena, I… that was totally unexpected and thank you.”

For the first time since she came over, the other woman looks at a loss. For a moment, just a moment, something wavers, but it’s righted before Kara can figure out what.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, waving a hand lightly, dismissive, but can’t seem to meet Kara’s eyes as she gathers up her own small bag.

Kara notices the other woman’s groceries now, that there’s not a lot there. A single package of chicken breast, few potatoes and ears of corn, one can of cranberry sauce and sole package of rolls. A very different picture begins forms for Lena Luthor’s Thanksgiving. It might be a lot smaller than she’d imagined, more of a crowd of 2 or 3 than hundreds, and far less star studded.

Maybe she can sense it, or maybe it’s Kara’s silent staring, but Lena adds a quick “I should go. Happy Thanksgiving,” and darts off into the crowd without another word.

Kara didn’t even get to say thank you.

The encounter is on her mind all the way home. Just when she thinks she’s gotten the measure of someone, they turn things upside down. Kara is looking for a reason, something selfish, some kind of F-U or one up that could have spurred the CEO to intervene, but that just isn’t what Kara’s gut says.

Then again, her gut has been wrong plenty of times.

Dropping the groceries on the counter, she flops on the couch and her mind turns to a different mysterious person.

After declining the whole meeting thing, Kara wasn’t sure how things would be. The email she got in return from **NatlCity98** was like all the ones before it though, and for that Kara is eternally grateful.

She pulls up the message in question, reads it over, and hits reply:

  
  


_[Dear Friend,_

_Your dry cleaning thing makes me think of the grocery store too- all your items on this belt, on display and open for others to come to their conclusions. Like reading tea leaves, I wonder if they ever try and guess the measure of someone and their life just from their purchase of JiffyPop, or nine tubes rolls of aluminum foil._

_Librarians would be in a particularly apt position for People Reading as well. Thinking about the books I’d borrowed in more formative years, those librarians (mostly women), those sentinels of knowledge, probably knew more about me than even I did at the time. More about me than my family might ever, come to think of it. Thinking about the rocharch of tastes, I’m not sure any of those conclusions would have been wrong either. Makes me have the utmost respect for people on the front lines of consumerism, and their silent witness to all our little secrets and eccentricities. Strangers knowing us more intimately than anyone in some ways. Kinda like you and I actually._

_ShopGrl ]_

  
  


*_*_*

  


 

“Tell me again why you didn’t want Julia to prepare this? You’ve never been particularly interested or blessed in the culinary department.”

Thanksgiving had been quiet ‘til this point, except for scraping of plates as Lena divided out meal.

“Because Mother, having your personal Chef make us something wouldn’t be as special. I wanted this to be Special.”

It’s a reminder to herself as much as a message to her mother, because she all but pulled her hair out trying to not burn or poison every bit of this meal. How she completed it (with only one fire extinguisher used) was a miracle in and of itself.

This was not just any holiday after all. This was her and Gen’s first holiday together. It had to be nice. She invited Lillian, hoping it would give the impression of family, the semblance of a ‘family holiday’ but somehow forgot that at no point in time has that ever been the case when Lillian was involved.

“Hm, and here I just wanted it to be edible.” _Case in point._

Lena doesn’t miss the way Gen’s little knuckles go white around the grip on her fork. It’s a bit disconcerting, but also touching. She’s not use to people, let alone children, standing up for her (or wanting to).

She prepped Gen before, that her mother wasn’t exactly the most palatable company, that she could be critical, but that it was _fine_ . Well not fine but _‘I just really want tonight to go well, so let’s just eat and then we can have the rest of the evening to ourselves’’._ Gen had very reluctantly agreed (tonight is the first night she’s stayed overnight with Lena too) which is probably the only thing keeping the eleven year old from stabbing her mother.

Lillian, unphased or even amused by the silent battle, moves on. “So tell me Lena, is that little Sci-Fi store still giving you trouble, or have you finally put it out of its misery?”

Like a direct hit, Lena’s torpedoed spirits sink. Though it was two days ago, Lena’s grocery store encounter with Kara Danvers is still fresh in her mind. The woman’s shock at Lena’s offer to help still stings, but it’s Lena’s own immediate reaction jumping into action at the sight of her floundering that is most vexing. Feeling bad for this woman, more than she already is, is not an option, yet there’s just something about her that keeps drawing Lena in.

She shoves that away to deal with at a later date though (like never), and schools herself to square of against someone far less helpless.

“Extrapolated sales figures indicate they probably only have a few more months,” she tells Lillian, like the good little company robot she is.

“Are you talking about _Up, Up, and Away_?” Gen frowns, and with that, Lena feels the last hope of an enjoyable dinner go right out the window. “That’s Kara’s store.”

“ _Kara_?” Lillian huffs at the familiarity.

Lena ignores her, in favor of Gen. “Yes, it is.”

“You’re putting her out of business?”

“Not intentionally.”

“Not intentionally? Oh _Lena_...”

Lillian’s mocking chuckle sends shivers, but Lena doesn’t give in. Keeping her focus on Gen. “That’s just sort of how business works. Supply and demand.”

“But what is she going to do though! Her mother owned that store,” Gen’s eyes glisten, face reddening with sadness, and Lena wants to kill whatever is hurting her, before she remembers, oh it’s Lena. “That’s all she has.”  

“That’s not our concern,” Lillian adds, pointedly and Lena scowls at her mother, before turning back to her d- her- ... well, to Gen.

“She seemed smart and very capable,” Lena says slowly. “I’m sure she’ll find something.”

“Don’t you feel bad though?”

Lena bites her lip, can _feel_ her mother’s gaze on her. She’s been feeling that same burn of judgement and disappointment, since before she was Gen’s age, since she joined the Luthor’s family, actually. That’s when she first started learning those oh-so-important lessons about how emotions were weakness, and empathy will impede success. About the responsibility she had to the Luthor Name not to anyone or anything else.

She’s been cowing to it, wilting under it, and never really in a position to do anything about it. For most of her life she’s been setting herself on fire to keep others warm. In many ways it’s too late for her, the damage is done, she hardly feels it any more... but she’ll be damned before she’ll bring Gen into the flames with her.

“Of course I do,” she says, answering Gen’s question, voice barely wavering. “ _Of course_ I feel bad, and if there was something I could do, _I would_. It’s just.. unfortunately there just isn’t.”

Gen nods in understanding, but still frowns. She turns her attention back to the plate, pushing around some of the burnt corn, thinking. When Lena turns, she sees Lillian’s expression is one of pure mocking disdain. Instead of looking away though, Lena focuses on it. She commits it to memory and tries not to let her traitorous feeling of shame unbalance the knowledge that being true to herself and her own morals _is_ more important than family. (Or at least the one that adopted her).

Lillian leaves before dessert and Lena can practically feel the air around her apartment lighten. She and Gen take their slices of Sara Lee cheesecake out onto the balcony and talk about the science project Gen’s working on for school. They end the evening on the couch, watching Parks and Recreation and laughing until their cheeks hurt. Lena has to try twice and finally use her “firm CEO voice” to get Gen to brush her teeth (something the girl finally does with all the rolling-eye attitude of a full-blown teenager) and the familiarity, the _normalcy_ of the moment strikes Lena so viscerally she has to get a glass of water to steady herself.

It’s a scene right out of any family movie. It’s one that probably plays out in reality in households across the world every night, but is still completely foreign to her and Gen. Neither have had that opportunity to have a parent there to take care of them. Gen has been on her own most of her life, in and out of the system and now at boarding school, much like Lena had.

It’s not the first time Lena has thought about this, about what it might be like if Gen were more than just a mentee. If she’s honest, Gen has been more to her than just a mentee for quite a while, but the idea of starting a more official process, something less temporary and more _forever_ , scares the shit out of her.

She tucks the girl in, says goodnight, shuts off the light, and stands at the door a moment. She pauses just long enough to watch Gen snuggle down into the covers, sigh contentedly, and roll over. Lena tip-toes out, closing the door behind her, and heads back ot the living room.

Pouring herself the glass of whiskey she’d forgone over dinner, Lena sits on her couch and realizes this is the first time in _years_ she’s not alone in the apartment. She wonders if Gen will sleep well, if she sleeps well at school, if anyone there gets up early and makes her breakfast...

Lena stays up late, thinking. About her biological mother she remembers as more of a feeling than a fact, about an adoptive mother who has made it clear Lena is more of a fact than something to attach feeling to. And about a little girl who, if Lena could be be brave enough, might make it so neither of them has to be alone again.

When 1 AM rolls around, she pulls out her laptop and reaches out to the only person in the world she feels she can. Who might understand.

  


_[When I was younger I’d wonder sometimes what my life would be like, if my mother was still alive, and what she would be like as well._

_Would we wear our hair the same? Do I have her laugh? Does she love the smell of lilac flowers like do? Would she be Proud of me?_

_I know it’s silly, but I like to think about it, hope about it. I try to make her proud. I don’t really remember her- can’t, she died when I was just 2 years old- but there’s an image I have of her in my mind. Well, more like an impression. It’s fuzzy and faded, but there’s a feel to it. It’s warm, soft. It feels like what I’d imagine the word ‘home’ would evoke for some people. It feels safe._

_I get sad sometimes because I’m sure how real it is though, how much of that impression is based on actual memory and how much I’ve filled in the blanks. It’s real to ME though, so that’s good enough right? I guess it has to be. Some things you know, and some things you will into existence. Who are we to say where that line is?_

_Sorry if this is too dark, it’s just I feel this connection with you. Like you might actually understand. Talking about my feelings is not something I was encouraged to do growing up (quite the opposite actually) but I’m working on it now and there’s something that feels safe about you. Something that gives me, strangely, that same impression, that same feeling, and I’m trying to let myself have it and not doubt it for once. Like practice. Here first, then the world. Because if I can’t be myself here, in this anonymous format, than where can I?_

_If this is too much though, please do tell me. In the meantime, I hope your holiday weekend was a good one._

_Yours,_

 

_-N ]_

  
  
  


*_*_*

  


 

“Well, time for a toast, I guess.”

Kara marshals all her restraint buttoning her mouth shut over objections brewing, as her sister stands on unsteady legs.

“Thank you all for coming to celebrate Thanksgiving, AND my birthday,” Alex begins, raising what might be her fourth glass of wine. “Thank you J’onn- for the book, Kara for the cake, Mom for supervising that Kara didn’t ruin the cake…” the table laughs at that. “And Winn- I’m definitely going to make you sorry you got me those Nerf guns.”

“Bring it,” he grins, leaning back in his chair with a laugh.

“But yeah, thanks for coming tonight. This year has been… uh…” Alex pauses, smile flagging a bit. Her eyes eyes dart to the empty chair at the end of the table, the one Maggie used to occupy. Alex manages to tear her gaze away, staring down into her drink instead. “It’s been hard. But, I’m really glad to have you all. In my life. So, yeah.” Swallowing down the emotion burbling, she nods.

Kara can’t take any more of it. She leaps up and wraps Alex into a hug, Eliza standing after a moment to bracket her daughter on the other side.

It’s only about a minute but it’s enough and when they pull away, Alex gives a small smile, embarrassed blush rising on her cheeks as she wipes her eyes.  “Ugh, sorry I’m a mess, Let’s talk about something else.” She flops back down in her seat, and J’onn leans over, squeezing her arm briefly.

Giving her daughter a moment to collect herself, Eliza deftly steers the conversation elsewhere. “Winn, how are things at work?”

“Pfft, you know college kids,” he shrugs. “Between TA-ing for the prof and working on my research I don’t have a lot of time. Kara’s been super helpful, giving me hours whenever I can fit them. I’m dreading finding a part time job with that kind of flexibility.”

“You won’t have to find another job,” Kara says firmly, eyes closed in defiance. “Not if I can help it.”

There’s an awkward beat where no one talks. Eliza looks at Alex, who looks at J’onn. J’onn clears his throat. “Kara...”

“Look, I know it looks grim,” she shrugs, a nervous laugh squeaking out. “I know the sales are down, and there’s absolutely no solution in sight. I’m not in denial, but I’m not giving up either.”

“Yes, and just as you’re preparing for if things do happen to work out, I’m preparing for another scenario,” Winn says lightly. “What about you J’onn? What would you do with… some extra time?”

“I’m thinking of taking a trip home soon. I might call M’gann and see if she wants to join me.”

“M’Gann? Oooo, you sly dog” Winn teases, pulling a small out smirk from the older man.

“What about you Kara? Not saying it would happen but, come on. Play along,” Alex says sloppily but mood improving. “Aren’t you always saying you wish you had more time to focus on your own writing?”

“Yeah,” Winn adds. “What about that idea you’re always talking about? The superhero girl one? I still think it’d be better as a graphic novel, rather than a YA series, but still”.

“That’s just a hobby,” Kara waves it off. “The store is a career- a current one that needs a lot of attention.” She huffs, annoyed. “I can’t believe you guys are just willing to roll over and-” her phone goes off. “Speaking of I need to take this. Being a small business over is a full time affair.”

Kara gets up, walks to the kitchen (grateful for the distraction) and answers it. “Hey Leslie.”

 _“Yo what up lady!”_ the boisterous author barks.

“It’s Thanksgiving,” she says, and upon silence clarifies. “Just dinner with family. How are you?”

 _“I think the question is how are YOU?”_ she shoots, TV muffled in the background, something with lots of horror screams it sounds like. _“I was just calling to make sure you guys are still going to be around to have my signing on the 4th.”_

“Um, yeah, why wouldn’t we be?”

_“LuthorBooks, Duh.”_

Kara grits teeth, and tries to settle the rising vitriol. “We are still on for the 4th.”

 _“Oh thank fuck,”_ Leslie chuckles, clearly unaware of Kara’s struggle. “ _Ya know, I was thinking, this whole your-biz-being-pushed-out shit show is the kind of thing the media would eat up. Have you thought of trying to get some publicity about it?”_

“Publicity?” Kara asks before she can stop herself.

_“Yeah man! Beef up support, get the sob story out there for investors! Shove it up LuthorBook’s ass!”_

Kara cringes. For a children’s book author (even a Spooky Stories one) Leslie had a particularly crude mouth.

 _“You know what I’d do?”_ she continues, not waiting for Kara. _“I’d try and get it on the local station- OH! You could call into that station KWHT- that morning show with the guy who always complains or whatever! You know the one?”_

“What guy?”

_“You know, Mike something? That shock-jock that yells about ‘social injustices’ or whatever. This is the shit he’d eat for breakfast.”_

Kara feels her stomach curdle, realizing it’s _her_ Mike that Leslie is referencing. Mike who is in Gotham for a friend’s birthday instead of here at the Thanksgiving table because _‘no offense but your family is kinda boring babe’_. Mike, who’s selfishness growing more and more intolerable each day. Mike, who’s she’s beginning to wonder why she’s still with at all.

The idea of getting him involved in something as delicate and meaningful to her as the store sits uncomfortably and it takes marshalling all she has to for a neutral response. “I’ll think about it. Thank you Leslie.”

 _“Of course- you know I’m looking out for ya chica. You’re promoting my book after all!  I’ll catch you on the flip-flop_.”

Leslie hangs up and Kara feels a bit of her joy leaves. Or maybe took the last of her reserve because now she feels raw, like a nerve exposed.

Returning to the table, she finds everyone happy, chatting, and Kara’s not sure she can just jump back in. The store maybe closing has been on her mind, and now on people’s lips and suddenly Kara feels like her legs have been cut out from under her.

“You okay? Who was it?”

“Leslie Willis, just checking in about her book signing thing in a few weeks.” Kara stands behind her chair, placing both hands on the backrest as if to brace against sitting down.

“She needs to take a chill pill. It’s Thanksgiving!” Winn cheers, tone and rosy cheeks indicating he’s reaching his wine limit as well. “It’s about family, not business!"

And something inside Kara feels like it cracks in two.

“What’s wrong honey, you’re looking a little piqued,” Eliza asks, brown drawn in concern.

“I’m actually not feeling so great,” Kara manages, and it’s true. She feels an ache in her chest like her heart is being constricted, like it can’t go on beating.

Eliza looks at her as if she knows, and Kara is both heartened and embarrassed, but ultimately thankful when she says, “Why don’t you go lay down in Alex’s room for a bit. We’ll call you for dessert.”

Kara just nods, afraid of what may come out if she speaks, and heads that way without a word.

Her sister’s room is dark and Kara leaves it that way, treading until she finds the bed, flops on it.

Winn’s words clash loudly in her head, because for her business and family _have_ always been intertwined. The bookstore is her home more than any place she’s ever lived, and almost every memory she has of her mother is fixed there as well.

And now she might lose it all.

Kara curls up on the bed, pillow smelling like her sister- like late night whispered talks and tearful confessions of her youth- and reminds herself that it’s not over ‘til it’s over. That she’s strong, and can't give up.

She thinks of her friend. Of the email received earlier, talking about memories fading and losing that sense of what’s real and not, and whether that even matters.

She pulls out her phone, screen illuminating the darkness around her, and begins to type.

  
  


_[Dear Friend,_

_On the contrary, thank you- for sharing. You’re right, that if we can’t be ourselves like this, where and how else could we be? It’s funny, the way holidays remember things, and remember what you’ve forgotten as well._

_My mother died when I was 14, but my father died before I was born- so everything I know about him is via my mother. She would talk about him all the time. It was the little details that made him feel so real though. His favorite color was red, he hated cauliflower and asparagus but loved broccoli, and when they were dating he’d read her Jules Verne. He was a photographer, and loved to travel, so I think Verne’s sense of adventure appealed to him. She’d those books to me and I’d imagine him as the protagonist, that it was him journey to the center of the Earth, or zooming around 20,000 leagues under the sea._

_Now that I’m older, I think she was trying to fill in the missing blanks for herself as much as for me. Keeping him alive through the narrative, and I guess that is how people remain with us. It’s strange though, missing someone you’ve never met, but I feel like I have. Yeah, he’s just a character in a story, never technically part of my life but the way she talked about him- I feel like I was right there too._

_I’m sorry to be such a downer, it’s just I’m not sure who else I could talk to about this. My adoptive family have always been supportive but I still feel awkward talking about my birth family with them. Like it’s a betrayal, or disrespectful- which I know it isn’t and yet I still feel that sense of guilt. I guess, that’s what’s nice about talking to someone you don’t know, it doesn’t come with all that inherent expectation. I can just be me, and I trust you to be you as well. And while similar experiences don’t necessarily equate to understanding, I feel like you just might. Understand, I mean, and that just gives me so much… hope._

_This year, when I think of those I’m thankful for, you’re on the list. Just thought you should know. Thank you, dear Friend. Thank you._

 

_ShopGrl]_

  
  


*_*_*_*_*


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! I'm having a blast writing this and we're just about half way now. As with much of this fic, there are several sections of diaglogue including the 'Godfather scene' below, are straight from the movie. There are things I just couldn't part with or change, and that's one of them. Just putting that up front, so no one comes to sue me, lol. So- for those of you who've seen the movie, enjoy! And those that haven't, also enjoy! More to come soon, either way :)

*_*_*_*_*

 

_[Dear Friend,_

_Last time I visited the snow was during a christmas vacation away as a child. I remember walking out into the woods in the evening, it had been snowing for an hour or so already, and being struck by how quiet it was. It muffled everything, even the trees, it was like you could hear the air itself, like being inside a photograph. Do you ever feel the need to be that still? To hit pause on the world? Not for a break- but to preserve the moment?_

_I confess, sometimes I feel that way when I read your letters. Like time stops and I want to just stay right there, nestled your words. It’s peculiar but wonderful. Like magic.]_

 

“Give me her email address.”

“What?” Lena startles. Looking up from her phone she finds Cat glaring at her.

“You’re going to give me the email address of this woman so we can end this charade.”

“Oh, I am not doing that,” Lena huffs a laugh, protectively sliding her phone into her purse.

“I have plenty of people on my staff that could find her,” Cat pauses, “As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure you could find her, so the question is why you haven’t.”

Lena has known Cat almost her whole life. She’s seen her level that piercing look at dozens and dozens of people she’s interviewed, but somehow that still didn’t prepare Lena to be on the other end of it. She cracks like an egg. “I did.”

“What?”

Lena shifts slightly in her seat, sitting up a bit taller. “I asked her to meet me and she... declined.”

“Than she’s a fool,” Cat says easily, as if that was all there is to it. “I mean, if she had any idea who she was meeting-”

“-But that's just it, she does,” and god does Lena hate the way her voice cracks over the word. It’s a bad habit- emotion seeping through. She usually schools it well but Cat has been a lifetime proponent and cheerleader of Lena NOT repressing it. So it’s no surprise the crack turns into a full leak, the rest of her thoughts spilling out.

“I’ve been completely 100% myself, more than with anyone before. In fact, she may be the only person in the world who really knows me, without the baggage of my last name tainting everything. I LIKE that. I love it, in fact, and if staying just friends over the internet is the only way I can have someone like that, someone this wonderful, than so be it.”

“That’s all well and good, but complete bullshit.”

Lena just blinks at that.

Placing her coffee down with an exaggerated eye roll, Cat continues. “As I was saying, anyone that really knew you Lena, as I like to think I do, would know that you’re one of the very few truly Good people around. Certainly the best I’ve ever met. You are kind to the point of insanity and have more brains than your entire company and family combined. So trust me, if this joker really knew you, they wouldn’t have declined.”

Reclaiming her coffee, Cat takes a sip. She returns to studying her phone but facade of nonchalance does nothing to temper the swell of affection Lena feels in her chest. “That has to be the nicest thing you or anyone has ever said to me.”

“Yes, well, let’s keep that between us. I have a reputation to uphold,” Cat hums, though the Lena detects the slight affection in her tone. “Speaking of business acumen how’s Lillian?”

And just like that, her mood takes a 180 degree turn. She sighs, “Completely and utterly opposed to everything I propose.”

“The usual then.”

“Honestly, that’s the problem.” Lena frowns. “Since Lex went to prison she’s become more interested ‘preserving the legacy’ than anything else. This National City store is the future, the changes are five steps ahead of the curve and people are loving it, yet she’s totally resistant. She’s cutting off our nose despite our face and it’s going to run us into the ground over time.”

“Than don’t let her.”

She scoffs a laugh,“She’s the CEO. What would I do, stage a coup and buy her out?”

Lena’s never been superstitious but a feeling in her gut sinks low as soon as the words come out of her mouth.

Cat raises an eyebrow.

“No.” Lena shakes her head answering the unvocalized challenge. “No, no, absolutely not-”

“-Why not?” Cat says, setting her cup down a bit harder than necessary. The salt shaker on the table topples over, spilling, and Lena curbs the weird urge to throw it over her shoulder.

“It’s insane that’s why. It’s mutiny,”

“Seems like a reasonable response when the captain is sinking the ship.” And god she hates how fucking calm and smug Cat gets when she thinks (knows) she’s right.

“It’s fine,” Lena says, completely unconvincingly. “I’m handling it.”

Cat glouers but thankfully doesn’t add anything further on the topic. “If you say so.” She stands tossing out her cup and the napkin she uses to gently blot her lips. “I better get going. I have my own ship to steer.”

Lena stands as well and they exchange a quick French cheek kiss in parting and she watches Cat disappear though the exit, bell above the door jingling gently as she goes.

Lena gathers her bag and coat, stopping a moment to drink it all in. Around her there is soft conversation accented by the gentle clinking of mugs and silverware. Morning light filters in the front window and adds a warm glow to the exposed brick and teak wood scents of the cafe. Despite not necessarily feeling them, Lena let’s herself steep in Cat’s words kind words from earlier and feels… good.

She's been standing next to her table a few long moments now, but can’t get herself to move, hesitant to relinquish the moment. This must be exactly what ShopGrl was talking about, she can see it, feel it even more clearly.

Time waits for no one though, so she takes one last moment to savor, and moved forward. Stepping out of the cafe and into the warm winter sun, Lena begins her day in earnest,thoughts looking ahead to what’s to come.

 

*_*_*

 

The calendar flips to December and the city takes it as a greenlight to jump full throttle into the holidays. Almost overnight, every corner is awash in lights, and decorations adorn every lamp post and shop front.

Kara spends all day on Monday working on the store’s window display, rigging up lights and using the store’s action figures to stage an epic holiday scene. The hulk stands next to the mini Christmas tree, hoisting Dr. Who aloft to place the star. Not far from that a dragon spits fire lighting the fake flames of a menorah and a kinara, while a pair of Tribles watch as they line up to pull Santa’s sleigh.

The window display is another tradition Kara and her mother would work on together and all day the memories flood her consciousness. Her mother’s hands, delicate and steady, handling each figure like they were made of crystal and not plastic. Listening to Dominic the Donkey and Frosty the Snowman while they hung paper snowflakes and lights from the ceiling. Nibbling on cookies- peanut butter with peanut M&Ms pushed inside- after they’d close up for the night. Kara would always ask for a second and her mother would always put on a big show of rolling her eyes before giving in.

The expected seasonal swell of business is in full swing, but it’s hard not to notice it’s less than years past. It’s getting harder and harder to ignore the facts in general actually. J’onn is kind about reporting their finances, but doesn’t sugarcoat. the truth of the matter is that this most likely will be the last Christmas the shop.

Kara has the distinct feeling she’s on a sinking ship. LuthorBooks has torpedoed the only life she’s ever known and all she can picture is the sneer on Lena Luthor’s perfect, red lips as she ripped kara to pieces at that party. It had the sort of expert precision that can only come from years of practice. Most of the time Kara can find it in her to feel sorry for those sorts of people, the ones that only care for money and a very narrow view of success, but she feels the damage this woman inflicted so viscerally, so personally. She’s too soured to feel anything but animosity.

Closing and locking the security gate out front, she takes one last look at her cheery holiday creation, and starts walking home. Pausing at the light a moment, she makes a decision. Since LuthorBooks opened Kara has, rather petily, avoided walking past the building. She’s taken a purposely long and convoluted way home but tonight, low as she is, she chooses to finally face her demons.

Her path leads past the window displays on the ground floor. Like her own store, these are well decorated, though have chose a joyless Non-Denominational Winter theme rather than any specific holiday, or feeling even.

Bland, Kara thinks, a spark of diresive pleasure at that.

That spark is instantly extinguished when she reaches the second to last window though. There, Leslie Willis’ smirking face glares back at her from a giant poster. It’s advertising an upcoming signing event for her new book- the same event she’d previously promised to do at Up, Up, and Away.

Thirty stacked copies gleam bright under a soulless display of blue snowflakes cut outs and Kara can only stand it for a few seconds longer before doing an about-face and making a b-line towards home.

The holiday cheer of her own decorations greet her when she arrives, but the whole thing feels almost mocking at this point. The joy of the season she’d hoped to ride into shore has capsized, and she’s totally adrift.

Mike is deep in what looks like some online video game. Headphones on, her grunts a greeting, which is just as well as Kara can’t say his is the support she wants right now. Crossing the room and heading straight for her bedroom, she plops on the bed. Before she even realizes, she has her computer open, typing.

 

_[Dear Friend,_

_The holidays are coming- if you couldn’t already tell- but this year that joy just isn’t connecting with me. Do you know that James Taylor song? “With a holy host of others standin' around me, still I’m on the dark side of the moon”? Such a sad song! And not really about Christmas at all, but I was thinking about it tonight as I was decorating, unwrapping funky ornaments and knick knacks, and missing my mother so much I almost couldn’t breathe. I always miss my mother at Christmas, but somehow it is worse this year since I need some advice from her. I need her to make me some cocoa and tell me that everything that’s going badly in my life will sort itself out. ]_

 

Kara hits send and just stares. She’s at a loss, unglued in time, as she has all day. Stuck between a past slipping through her fingers and a future still too nebulous to grab hold of.

It’s hard to say how long she sits there staring, but it’s the little alert- those three words ‘You’ve Got Mail’- that bring her back to the present.

The email is from NatlCity98. It simply states:

_[What kind of advice do you need? Can I help?_

_Yours,_  
_N. ]_

Kara smiles, hits reply. _[Can you help? I wish you could help. I wish-]_

There’s a different trilling alert and a dialogue box pops up, interrupting her thoughts and eliciting a little surprised gasp. It’s an instant message. From NatlCity98! Kara holds her breath before clicking on the dialogue box.

 

_[NatlCity98: I had a feeling you’d be online. Can I help?]_

 

This is as close to being in the same time and space as they’ve ever been with each other and Kara can’t help the giddly little thrill it ignites in her stomach. Somewhere in the back of her mind though, there’s a voice echoing Alex’s words months ago, about emotionally investing in a stranger rather than the partner she is actually dating. She wasn’t wrong… except this stranger has been far more supportive, far more present, than Mike has in the year they’ve been dating.

That definitely needs unpacking. Later. For now, Kara holds her fingers lightly over the keyboard, just resting, until that excited energy in her stomach becomes too much. She answers.

 

_[ShopGrl09: I wish you could help. It’s kind of a delicate matter though.]_

 

There’s a moment of nothing, just waiting. Kara holds her breath, and then,

 

_[NatlCity98: Is it about love?]_

 

She lets out a laugh, a little surprised ‘ha’ and also blushes at the thought of her secret suitor inquiring, worrying. It’s cute and endearing and makes Kara more than a little hopeful. (Hopeful for what- she won’t dare touch at the moment).

 

_[ShopGrl09: It’s my business. My business is in trouble.]_

_[NatlCity98: You’re in luck! I just happen to be brilliant at business! I’m told it’s what I do best (not always as a compliment, but true all the same). What kind of business is it?]_

 

“Nice try,” Kara says to herself, shaking her head.

_[ShopGrl09: No specifics, remember.]_

 

Three dots pop up in the corner indicating her friend is typing. And typing, and typing. It lasts for two whole minutes before finally-

_[NatlCity98: Well, minus specifics, it's hard to help. Except to say, “Go to the mattresses.”]_

 

Kar frowns. “Go to the mattresses?...What?”

_[ShopGrl09: What does that mean???]_

_[NatlCity98: It's from “The Godfather”. It means you have to go to war.]_

 

Kara snorts, because of course. With a roll of her eyes, she types back:

_[ShopGrl09: What is it with people and “The Godfather”??? My sister is always quoting that movie too! She loves it. I have no idea how people get invested in a group of old white dudes shooting each other.]_

_[NatlCity98: Fair point, but if you can set that aside, there’s a lot of wisdom there. The answers to many questions even :) ... ]_

_[NatlCity98: What should I pack for my summer vacation? "Leave the gun, take the cannoli." ]_

_[NatlCity98: What day of the week is it? "Maunday, Tuesday, Thursday, Wednesday..." ]_

_[NatlCity98: No, but seriously the answer to your question is "Go to the mattresses." You're at war. "It's not personal, it's business. It's not personal, it's business." Recite that to yourself every time you feel you're losing your nerve. ]_

There’s a pause, then more writing, then:

 

_[NatlCity98: I know you worry about being brave (so do I). Don’t. This is your chance. Fight. Fight to the death. ]_

 

It’s good advice, advice she’s never really followed. That’s the thing though isn’t it? Times change. That’s why she’s in this mess to begin with, her refusal to change or grow, in some ways. This is an opportunity to show herself, and Luthorbooks, just how different she can be.

“It’s not personal, it’s business. Fight! Fight, fight, fight...” She shoots off a quick thanks before getting up and striding quickly into the living room before she loses her nerve.

“Mike?”

“What babe?” he asks, not taking his eyes off the game in front of him.

“I was thinking maybe I could come on the morning show. You know, tell people about the store and what’s happening. Highlight the injustice- isn’t that what you always say?” She bites her lip. “What do you think?”

He looks up, grin pulling at his face. “Um GREAT IDEA! We should totally do that! And-Oh! Oh!” he hoots, excitedly, setting the controller aside. “Even better idea- not just radio- we should video the interview too! Yeah, oh yes, definitely. It'd be perfect too because Ike and I have been wanting to make a move to YouTube…”

“You really think that would add to it?”

”Absolutely. I mean babe you have a great voice but if people see this,” he gestures up and down at her. “They’ll be falling all over themselves for whatever you want them to do.”

Kara bites her lip. “I’m not sure that’s the kind of help I want…”

“Listen. Babe,” standing, he moves and takes both her hands in his. “This is what I do. I get people to care about what I want them to care about. In this industry, sex sells- and you want sales right?”

This was not the weapon of choice she imagined for her fight. It leaves her a little queasy actually, but Mike seems so sure, and he is really good at getting people to listen to his show… “Okay. We can do the video I guess.” .

He squeezes her hands quick, before letting go. “Awesome! You’re making the right decision. Lemmie email the Snapster right now and pitch the idea but he’s totally going to go for it.”

He grabs his phone, starts typing away and the question jumps out before she can stop it.

“Hey by the way…”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know what ‘go to the mattresses’ means?”

“Yeah it’s from the godfather,” he says, eyes still on his phone as he texts away. “Why?”

Of course, and she almost wants to laugh. “Nothing, it’s- nothing. Let me know what Snapper says.”

“Will do.”

She makes her way back to the bedroom, setting her computer aside and crawling under the sheets. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she’ll begin her campaign to save the store full throttle. Who knows what’ll happen but she’ll make sure that if Fate sees to it the store closes, it won’t go down without a fight.

 

*_*_*

 

Kara Danvers is haunting her. It’s like the woman woke up one morning last week and decided to make Lena’s life as difficult as possible. It started with an Op Ed piece where she, quite elegantly and succinctly, raked Lena and LuthorBooks over the coals. That got quite a lot of attention, and led to a snippet on the local news with some truly caustic soundbites of its own.

Lena understands of course- after all it’s not personal, it’s business - but that doesn’t make it hurt less. She wishes people could understand just how hard it’s been to get where she is, that fight every step of the way for the things she wanted. All of i- the green energy considerations, the donations, the literacy programs, the school discounts- was an uphill battle. Sleepless nights, constant begging and hunting and campaigning for support and resources. Worse than the board, she had to fight her mother. Her mother who, without Lex to dote on, has shifted all energy and focus to Lena. Specifically, criticizing every minute mistake Lena makes. At the top of that list right now, this Kara Danvers PR nightmare.

She woke up at 4am today, for example, to a half dozen emails from Lillian citing Kara’s campaign of destruction. Kara’s warm, toothy grin stares back at her all morning and how someone so beautiful can- someone so unassuming can be so calculatedly mean, Lena does not know.

The woman isn’t a legitimate threat to business of course. At the risk of sounding monstrous, Luthor Books really is too big to fail- at, this location is at least. That doesn’t mean the woman can’t truly fuck things up for a while though.

Case in point, as her car turns the corner approaching the store, she spots the picketers. Just where Kara asked them to be in that short but potent Channel 4 clip. As they roll to a stop, their shouted mantra finally comes into focus as well.

“Luthor’s here to make a killin’, she’s no hero- she’s a villain! Luthor’s here to make a killin’, she’s no hero- she’s a villain! Luthor’s here-”

“You want me to drive around back?” her driver Tony asks.

“No, here is fine. I’ll be fine.” It’s not the first angry mob she’s had to wade through sadly.

She makes her way inside easily enough. As it turns out, the Anti-Big Books crowd is a bit more tame than that outside her brother’s racketeering/drug-running/murder trial, for example. The store’s motion sensor doors close with a hydraulic suck behind her and suddenly she’s in the vacuum of her own world once more.

Ascending the escalator that rises up through the middle courtyard, she can look through and see each level. On all four sides people browse the shelves or sit reading in comfy chairs. It’s just how she envisioned it- a place to gather and share in a love of literature. A safe space is a rare thing and if nothing else, Lena wanted it to be that.

It’s only when she finally gets to the 3rd floor cafe, settling into the leather chair in the corner, that she finally relaxes. She closes her eyes a moment. The picketers are too far away to hear, their manta only echoing in her head now, and even there it’s quieting down.

“You know, it’s a particular brand of egotism to set our coffee rendezvous in your own cafe.”

Lena opens her eyes. “Was feeling in the need of a pick-me-up, a reminder why I’m doing this. Wasn’t exactly expecting the welcome wagon.”

Cat Grant settles into her seat, crossing one leg over the other. “Yes, Ms. Danvers’ campaign does seem to be gaining steam.”

“Yeah thanks for that by the way. I still can’t believe you printed her OpEd.” Lena huffs, taking up her own coffee. “You- everyone- is making her into Joan of Arc.”

“Martyrdom sells,” Cat shrugs, a bit too cheekily. “People love a tragedy, especially one with such an attractive protagonist. She’s intriguing and it certainly helped that the woman is a rather surprisingly apt writer. You could practically taste the vitriol towards you.”

“Yes, who knew behind those corn-fed good looks and ‘aw gee shucks’s was a PR shark...”

“Good looks?”

Cat smirks, and Lena hopes to god her face isn’t turning red. “Of course that’s what you’d get out of all that,” she presses forward. “And it was just an observation, an obvious one too- she looks like she could hulk out of those cardigans at any moment.”

Cat’s phone gives a low tone alert. She picks it up, “Well speak of the devil.”

“What now?”

“It appears you friend did a little radio talk show this morning,” Cat hums.

“Do you have a Google alert for her name or something?”

“Like I said, she intrigues me” Cat says, eyes still on her phone. After a moment, a smirk of mild amusement forms and now Lena’s really worried.

“What? What did she say?”

“They filmed it too apparently. Over 9000 views in the last few hours.”

“Give me that.”

Cat slides her phone over to Lena. There's an article with a link to the youtube video in question. Lena clicks it and suddenly and Kara Danvers’ fills the screen.

She sits in a radio studio, between two men- one Lena recognizes as the smarmy fellow hanging on her at the party months ago.

Even with the giant headphones, and the studio’s poor lighting, Kara glows. The outfit she wears, a simple button up with a grey cardigan over it, somehow hugs all the right places while still maintaining that wholesome, trustworthy vibe.

People are going to want to eat her with a spoon. Goddamnit.

 

 _“Welcome to a very special episode of Mike and Ike’s friends,”_ the shock jock oozes. _“Today we have Kara Danvers, local bookshop owner and fellow soldier in the fight against corporate tyranny. Kara, Welcome.”_

_“ Hi guys, thanks for having me.”_

_“So, LuthorBooks. They’ve goose-stepped into our tender neighborhood it seems, bringing espresso and gentrification along with.”_

_“Well they have to have discounts and lattes,” Kara says, leaning into the microphone, adorably awkward. “because most of the people who work there have never read a book.”_

Lena flinches internally. A very punchy start.

 _“Ouch,”_ Mike says, faux wince echoing Lena’s sentiment. _“Now I’ve read that the youngest Luthor, Lena, has taken on this store as a sort of personal project. She’s been tossing a lot of very appealing buzzwords touting all the ways its benefiting the community...”_

His sarcasm is thick, lacking all tact, but it’s a beautiful set up and Kara seems poised and ready to spike it.

 _“Well I’ve spoken with Ms. Luthor one on one, and I can assure you that’s all for the camera,”_ Kara says, vitriol sharp and clear. _“For example, I’ve heard her refer to her store as a Price Club, and her books as nothing more than rolls of toilet paper.”_

“Oh god, Lillian heard that one for sure,” Lena groans into her hands.

 _“Well, it just so happens we have a clip from an interview with Scrooge- I mean Ms. Luthor- from earlier this week,”_ human trash can Mike smirks. _“Ike, hit it.”_

The bald producer sitting silently on the other side of the booth presses a button and Lena voice rings loud and clear.

_[Clip]: Lena: I sell cheap books, so sue me._

Lena looks up aghast and Cat gives her a skeptical eyebrow. “Really, Lena?”

“I didn't say that! I mean, I did but that’s not all!” And oh she is livid now. “I said we were the greenest business in the city! I talked about out inner city reading program, how all our pastries are local and our coffee is Equal Trade! I talked about how you could come and read all day and it was a community space for people to gather! I said we were a fuckin’ Piazza for the community to gather and enjoy!”

“A Piazza?”

“I was eloquent!”

On the phone, the video rolls on, and Lena feels a bit like she’s on a rollercoaster without a harness.

 _“Wow, what more is there to say really but ‘Yikes’,_ ” Mike wither the punchable face chuckles. _“And I see it’s about time we wrap up so Kara, if Ms. Luthor were here, what would you want to say to her? And please, don’t hold back._

There’s a pause, and for a moment, Lena wonders if the screen didn’t just freeze. But then, it comes.

 _“My mother used to say to me that every book you sell is a gift from the heart,”_ Kara begins, and already the emotion in her voice is palpable. _“My store and my neighborhood have plenty of heart. You can feel it in each nook and cranny because it’s not just business, just pushing paper, it’s personal. My family’s business is about books and those who love them and yours is about money. You have the wrong paper in mind Ms. Luthor, and I’m not sure you have to have heart to gift even if it wasn’t.”_

Lena’s very real heart drops so hard she’s worried it may crack the linoleum. She’s not sure why it’s so devastating… no that’s a lie, she knows. It’s because of Kara. An objectively sweet woman hates her, hates her for all the things Lena is most self conscious about. And all of them true.

Yes, Lena’s business is green and sustainable and so much more, but there’s no getting around that it is a business. She chose this neighborhood, strategically, when she could have gone downtown. She is responsible for putting Kara out of business and whether she feels bad or not doesn’t change that.

 

_“You heard her folks. Now if you want to help save Up, Up, and Away- or just give your support to this gorgeous young woman, stop by and visit! The store is at-“_

 

Lena clicks out of the window, sliding the phone back towards Cat slowly.

“Well, you’re right about one thing,” Cat hums, collecting her phone. “She’s not fooling anyone with those cardigan’s. I wonder who her personal trainer is…”

The joke falls flat and Lena’s eyes sting with tears barely held back. She shouldn’t let it get to her, or after so many years of this she should be used to it at the very least, yet she can’t seem to help it.

Cat tuts, pity or maybe compassion, tugging at her expression. She raises a hand towards Lena’s shoulder- almost as if to also most initiate a hug- but pauses before touching. It ends up being an awkward double shoulder tap, but Lena is moved by the sentiment all the same.

“Coffee on me next time,” Cat says, sliding on her oversized sunglasses. “After all, Ms. Danvers may put you out of business any day now.”

Lena sniffs, composing slightly. “Doubt it,” she says dryly. “Haven’t you heard? I’m only here to ‘make a killin’,”.

“Well ‘megalomaniac’ is hard to rhyme,” she takes up her purse. “See you next week?”

“Of course,” she forces a smile. “Bye Cat.”

Giving a little wave, Cat turns and makes her way out, leaving Lena to her own devices.

She moves to bus their table and catches sight of her coffee cup, order is scrawled on the side, and thinks of ShopGirl’s words about coffee identity. About ShopGirl in general.

Rather than head to her office she sits back down and pulling the laptop out of her bag, she begins an email.

 

_[Can one ascertain kindness from just a look? Compassion from the clothes you wear? Resiliency form the way you hold yourself? At this point, I’d settle for even the benefit of the doubt._

_Most of my life I’ve had others jump to conclusions based on my circumstances or appearance and it frustrates me to no end. It’s been particularly hard the last few years as my family and I have found ourselves on opposite sides of some very important issues. In addition to standing up to them, I’ve had to face those who would lump me in with their sentiments, judging me on that rather than my own merit. It’s exhausting, to say the least._

_In truth, that’s what drove me to the chat room that day we ‘met’. The desire for someone to get to know me, separate from all the other trappings. Still, even now, you’re only getting part of the puzzle aren’t you? Still a skewed perspective. I wonder how it would have been if we met on the street, in real life. Would this same connection have been forged? I don't know. At the end of the day we’re all still human, gathering data as it becomes available, from the surface down._

_I like to imagine we’d have still gotten along, even if it was just a few passing pleasantries. I like to think you’d be the kind of person that would smile at a stranger, and that I’d be the kind of person that would smile back._

_Yours,_

_N ]_

 

 

*_*_*_*_*


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